Rumrunner
by Nokomiss
Summary: Argus Filch has been many things in his life. Squib. Caretaker. Gangster. What was his life like before, back when he didn't stay in the wizarding world? Back when he lived up to the name Manacle?
1. Reminisce

Rumrunner

Disclaimer: Argus Filch, Sibyll Trelawney, and the Hogwarts crew and magic stuff don't belong to me. 

  
  


**Prologue: Reminisce**  
  
Tommy guns had been the best part of his life.  
  
Some people might disagree with an inanimate object being the best part of someone's life, and, more likely than not, the people who made Tommy guns the best part of his life would disagree with Tommy guns being the best part of anything, but he frankly didn't give a damn.  
  
There had been no feeling in the world quite like gripping the gun, and bracing himself, and pulling the trigger to let loose a hail fire of death and destruction. There had been other weapons and guns and things too, but the Tommy gun just summed up the entire experience much better than anything else.  
  
He missed it.   
  
He missed his whole life from before, in fact. From when he hadn't spent all day cleaning up after the little miscreants who graced the hallowed halls of this incredibly dusty castle. From when he had been allowed to punish and hurt and make people scream. From when he had been a whole person, not looked down on as less than a man because of circumstances beyond his control. He had been respected back then, and that had been what was most important.  
  
He was no longer respected, and no one even cared.   
  
He saw the faculty members tiptoe around that slimy kid Snape, because he had been a minion of an evil wizard. So what? He was reformed now, wasn't he? Working around the snivelling brats voluntarily, running to Dumbledore with every morsel of news that reached his ears about the comings and goings of You-Know-Who. Filch thought it was a little pathetic.  
  
He didn't have much of a choice in being here, after all. Not many job openings for Squibs, after all. Either the jobs needed magic to get done or the ones offering the jobs didn't want him around. Magic users weren't comfortable around what might have been, after all. Being around a Squib on a daily basis might make them wonder about their own pathetic existence and how it might have been worse if they hadn't been born lucky.  
  
He couldn't go back to the Muggle world, though. He was pretty sure there were still outstanding warrants on his head. Besides, he wasn't as young as he used to be, and getting a job in his speciality would be near impossible. Times had changed, and the crime world was no longer as dignified as it had been during his golden day. Back then, the criminals- the bootleggers, the mob bosses, even the pimps- had been respected amongst the rich and powerful, and more often than not had been the rich and powerful.   
  
It just wasn't the same as it had been back then.   
  
Police work, he knew, was much better now. He still read about Muggle things, and he knew that now, they traced people through the tiniest clues. A strand of hair, a drop of blood would lead to an arrest. He was more than a little glad that it hadn't been like that when he had lived with the Muggles. But, sixty years would change things in the fast moving Muggle world.   
  
He had loved working with the gangsters. The Prohibition, so intent on creating better morals through the banning of that most indecent of substances, alcohol, had instead created a network of crime and smuggling and an underworld that put earlier outlaws to shame. He now knew that the bootlegging that he had participated in had earned millions, and had provided jobs for countless thousands.   
  
All he had known at the time was that it was a profitable business, and it being outside of the law had given him lots of room for interpretation of what, exactly, his job entailed. He had helped out with enforcing part of the underground crime scene. Meaning, he was one of the ones who made the other bosses afraid to try and rise in power, he was one of the ones who made the people afraid to go to the cops and he was one of the ones that made protection necessary for all the business owners.  
  
Also, it had mostly just been plain thrilling. Just a total excitement of the mind and body. The money was nice, the girls and liqueur nicer. The thrill of the chase, the anticipation of gunfire, the knowledge of death creeping its cold hands ever closer to his neck even better.   
  
He had been a bad, bad man, and he had revelled in it. The wizarding world just didn't know what they were missing out on. Muggles might be backwards, they might be ignorant, but they made damn fine criminals. Forget trying to become an undisputed leader of the wizarding world like You-Know-Who, forget being a dignified villain like the Malfoys strove to be, especially forget any delusions that the good side is the best one to be on. Muggle gangsters had led the best lives.  
  
Argus Filch had arrived in Michigan at the age of nineteen.  
  
When he left just over a decade later, he had changed irreparably into a less bitter version of the man he was today. He had learned many things about himself in that golden era of his life, things that most people never learned. What it felt like to kill. What it felt like to love. What it felt like to be feared. Argus had been sent to America mainly because his family was ashamed of him. After all, the Filches were a respectable line, and having a Squib born into their ranks had been a traumatic event indeed for his dainty mother. He had become something there that might indeed have caused his mother to be ashamed, but she never knew the extent of his sins.  
  
None of them did, really, except the one whom he had shared his secrets with. He supposed that he loved Sibyll, in a way. It was not the lust driven love he had experienced in his youth, but instead more of a companionship that had a little more depth of emotion that what he shared with, say, his cat, beloved though she might be.  
  
Of course, that didn't stop him from realising that Sibyll was nuttier than peanut butter. But she saw beyond his admittedly rough exterior, just as he saw past her veils and incense. She hadn't been exactly supportive of his past, hadn't understood the appeal that such things had held for him. But then, most people wouldn't. She had, however, accepted it. Accepted it in a way that no one else would have, because she understood that what he had been was still a part of him.   
  
Part of him was still Manacle: the inquisitor, the businessman, the terrifying figure that no one really wanted to get on the wrong side of. Part of him still craved the way illegal liqueur had tasted- so much better than even the most expensive wine. Part of him was still in love with that blue-eyed Italian girl. Part of him remained in the past, in a different place, in a whole different world from here. Part of him would never change.  
  
But Sibyll had accepted that, and didn't try to contradict him when he told her of the joys he had experienced. He repaid this by accepting her Sight as real, despite evidence to the contrary, and he patiently listened to her reminisce about things she had Seen and foretold.  
  
They were both outsiders amongst the faculty and staff of Hogwarts, but that only served to forge a greater bridge between the two. However, even this companionship, this love of sorts that he shared with Sibyll, his life before, with Tommy guns and things of that nature, had been the best part of his existence.  
  
There was no doubt about that. 


	2. Rumination

**Chapter One: Rumination**  
  
Arethusa Filch was a delicate woman, and Argus's birth had nearly killed her. The doctors all said that she would never carry another child to term again, and they had proven right, despite Arethusa's continuous tries to prove them wrong. She had suffered countless miscarriages, and had only given in to the doctor's prognosis after almost bleeding to death after a particularly nasty miscarriage in the fourth month of her umpteenth pregnancy.  
  
She coddled and doted on her only son. He was, after all, the only one she would ever have. So, young Argus's childhood was filled with toys, treats, and traveling. Argus never wanted for anything, because his mother gave him everything. They were a respectable family, after all, and he was the only heir. It was only fitting that he should be treated like a young prince during his formative years.  
  
Arethusa made sure that her young son was well educated. Ignorance would only reflect badly on the family. Argus was therefore well versed in both the basics and the more intricate details of history and languages, magical and Muggle alike, as well as more knowledge about spells than most youngsters. Arethusa dedicated a large portion of her life during those years to the education of her only child.  
  
Therefore, when her only child had not received a letter to Hogwarts at the age of eleven she had been devastated. At first, Arethusa had ignored the possibility that he did not possess magic. She came up with half-remembered examples of things that could, possibly, have been magical outbursts during his childhood. None of them panned out to be more than coincidences.  
  
When that failed, she moved onto family legends. She had insisted that her sister hadn't shown magic until almost the day she had left for Hogwarts. She also mentioned her dear cousin Arlington who hadn't received his Hogwarts letter until he had turned twelve.  
  
Argus had just nodded in agreement, and had not tried to argue with his headstrong mother. He had a sneaking suspicion that she was wrong. He had never really felt completely comfortable with the idea that he was a late bloomer, and, due to his realistic outlook, had realized that there was the possibility that he had no magic at all. It did happen, after all. Every wizarding family had a cousin or uncle whom no one spoke of that had no magic.  
  
He had hoped that he had magic, but as he watched his childhood friends leave for Hogwarts while he didn't, he had to wonder. That year had been horribly long, waiting and watching for an owl apologizing for missing his name from the student roster that year, and also waiting and hoping for something magical to happen to him.  
  
Nothing did.  
  
He turned twelve, and still no letter from Hogwarts had arrived. His mother fretted, and he just sullenly went to his room, where he had a wand hidden. He had found the wand in the attic, in an old trunk filled with elaborate dress robes. He had snuck the wand back to his room, and had been trying to perform any sort of spell ever since.  
  
None had worked.  
  
He was aware that the Ministry of Magic monitored the use of underage magic, but as long as he got some magic to happen he would happily take any punishment the Ministry would dole out for him. However, punishment no longer even crossed his mind as he remained unsuccessful at getting anything to happen with the wand. Not even faint sparks or a failed spell had happened.  
  
As much as he didn't want it to be true, it seemed the rumours and whispers he'd heard from his older cousins was true. He had no magic. He was a Squib.  
  
He figured it out for sure that afternoon at the age of twelve. His mother finally accepted the idea as a possibility a year later. She had sighed dramatically at the dinner table, and had announced, "Argus, dear, I believe that the ladies may be correct."  
  
Argus had been utterly flummoxed by the statement. He had been eating his stew, and suddenly his mother had come up with an off-the-wall proclamation. He looked at his father, who was snoozing lightly, his chin resting on his chest. His father was an older man, who never took much an interest in anything except sleeping and scotch. No help there. No one else was present in the room, so Argus finally just said, "Come again?"  
  
"The ladies," his mother replied in an I-can't-believe-you-don't-know-what- I'm-talking-about tone. "They think you don't have any magic, and I'm inclined to believe them."  
  
The ladies were his mother's circle of socialite friends. All were from pureblood and high-ranking families, and they met at each other's homes for tea and gossiping several times a week. As a group, they were snippy, back- stabbing, and utterly inseparable.  
  
Argus could not come up with a proper response, so he just said, "I thought I said that was a possibility a while back."  
  
"Well, that was just your opinion," his mother replied with a huff. "But now the ladies have all come to the same conclusion."  
  
Argus looked back at his father, hoping vainly for some assistance. He knew that he would say something completely disrespectful it there wasn't an interruption soon. And, lo and behold, an interruption occurred.  
  
His father let out a loud snort, opened his eyes, clutched at his chest, and said, "Pass the potatoes."  
  
Then he fell over dead.  
  
Argus stared.  
  
His mother stared.  
  
His father stared, only because he had opened his eyes immediately before dying.  
  
"Is- is he dead?" Argus asked, staring at his father.  
  
"I believe so," replied his mother, not getting up. They both stared at the body some more. Argus had never seen a corpse before, much less one at the dinner table. It wasn't quite as fascinating as he would have supposed. All his father's body was doing was, well, sitting there. He was kind of tilted to one side, from falling over dead, but he was still mostly upright in his chair. He looked the same as he had pretty much all of Argus's life, with the exception that in death, his eyes were actually open.  
  
"Imagine that," said his mother. "I was married to that man for fifteen years, and now he decides to fall over dead. Right in the middle of dinner!" She sat there, musing on the situation for a minute. "Well, at least the ladies weren't here. That would have been dreadfully embarrassing."  
  
Argus just nodded dumbly, and set his fork down. He really wasn't hungry any longer.  
  
There was a nice funeral for his father. Argus thought that having the coffin in the parlour with the top open wide to reveal the body of his father was a little creepy. He hoped his father wouldn't come back to haunt the house, but that didn't seem like a very likely possibility. His father hadn't really been attached to anything in the material world, and there were probably many more places to sleep undisturbed in the ethereal world.  
  
After his father's death, not much changed around the Filch household. Some of the relatives on the Filch side stopped coming by to visit, and the ladies were over much more often, but no major lifestyle changes came about from the death of the man of the house. In fact, the biggest lifestyle change involved Arethusa's acceptance of the fact that her only child was, indeed, a Squib.  
  
She began to make him perform household tasks that she had done effortlessly with magic for years by himself, as 'preparation' for the real world. He spent countless hours scrubbing floors, dishes, windows- anything and everything. He also found himself polishing the silver, despite the anti-tarnish charms that were on them, as well as doing laborious chores around the property.  
  
The next six years were spent pretty much in the same manner as the first thirteen of his life, except, of course, more work. His mother met with the ladies and gossiped, he did chores and worked.  
  
He also began to spend more time with the Muggle boys from the town, especially during the school year. He learned a lot of things from them about the Muggle way of life, which was the reason he had told his mother that he spent time with them. In reality, he liked being around the Muggle boys because they didn't treat him as though he were something inferior like his wizard 'friends' did. He also had more in common with the Muggles now, both magically and socially. The young wizards were full of stories about Hogwarts, jokes about people he had never met, and wild tales of the things they had discovered over the school year. Argus couldn't keep up with all the names that they flung around so casually.  
  
The only other real change in his life was that every now and again, his mother would bring up a topic of conversation that made him a little nervous. "I hear that there are lots of jobs in America. All you've got to do is go over there, and you can find a way to make a living straight away."  
  
Argus would nod, or grunt in response. He didn't want to go to America. It surely couldn't be all that great, if any idiot off the street could do whatever they wanted. And, besides, America was a long ways away-namely, there was a pretty big ocean between there and here. An ocean that would have to be crossed in order to get to America. And what crossed oceans? Boats.  
  
He hated boats.  
  
He blamed the hatred on an incident when he had been nine, where he and a few of the other area wizarding family's children took a rowboat out on a lake, not knowing that a giant squid lived there. They had been rowing merrily along when suddenly the boat had lurched. Argus had gripped the sides securely, knowing that he wasn't a very strong swimmer. He'd never had to be, because he wasn't the son of a fisherman and his friends weren't normally the type to explore aquatic areas.  
  
However, they had decided this afternoon that going rowing would be a perfect adventure. Argus had been forced to go along, because it wouldn't do to be known as the sissy boy. So, when the boat began to toss back and forth, he had been terrified. He didn't show it, of course, but his knuckles did turn a translucent shade of white as they gripped the side of the boat.  
  
When the tentacle had reached out of the water, and smashed into the side of the rowboat, Argus had screamed. The other three boys did, too. The tentacle just lay across the boat, glistening dark in the sun, pale underside and suckers visible from young Argus's vantage point.  
  
The tentacle slid off the boat slowly, making it tilt alarmingly to one side. Then, another tentacle, or maybe it was the same one, came bursting through the surface of the water, and hit the boat again. The boat rocked violently, and before it could settle back into the water yet another tentacle emerged. This one hit even harder, and caused the boat to finally flip right over.  
  
Argus gasped as he hit the surprisingly frigid water. It had looked warm and inviting from above, but now he could feel winter still had a hold on the dark waters below. He didn't completely recall later what happened next. He remembered splashing frantically, and cold water splashing into his mouth and choking him, and trying desperately to keep his head above the water.  
  
He supposed that somebody pulled him out, due to him not being dead, but he honestly couldn't remember. But what memory remained of that awful, helpless time floundering in the lake had made him avoid boats ever since.  
  
And that was a good enough reason for him to not want to go to America. The way he figured it, if some random lake could have a giant squid living in it, then there were all sorts of even bigger things that were probably living in the ocean. Not to mention what would happen if the whole boat going over sunk.  
  
Look at the Titanic. It had gone down, and it had been supposedly unsinkable. He'd been young, but he remembered hearing about some wizards being arrested and sent to Azkaban because their anti-sinking charms on the massive liner had never actually been applied. It had been one of those rare Muggle-magic cooperative business ventures, and a reminder of why they were so rare.  
  
From what he'd heard about the event, it had been somewhat of a scam from the beginning. Muggle entrepreneurs had proposed to the Ministry of Magic their plan- an unsinkable ship. The Ministry, seeing the opportunity to gain lots of money from a no-fail venture, had immediately agreed. They had hired a freelance crew of expert charmers to charm the ship. Apparently, the crew had pretended to put the right charms on the ship.  
  
They had thought that there was really no reason to do the exhausting charm work because the ship looked pretty darn sturdy. Unfortunately, the thought that the ship would run headlong into an iceberg failed to cross any of their minds. Now, they were sadly without those minds because of that minor overlook. Azkaban was a nasty place.  
  
The Ministry had been put under close investigation over their hiring practices, but none of the allegations had panned out. The Ministry therefore retained its right to hire whomever it wished for nearly any position.  
  
He'd also heard about a few of the wizards on board the ill-fated shop that had tried to Apparate off. They had become panicked due to all the screaming Muggles around them, and had gotten splinched. Their heads had reportedly appeared at the bottom of the ocean. Messy business, according to the story about it he had read from the squads sent out to fix it, to the best of their abilities.  
  
Argus didn't have any magic at all, so he wouldn't even have to worry about a botched Apparition. No, he would have to try to get onto a lifeboat with a bunch of ignorant Muggles, and try his chances that way. He wouldn't do it. He refused to die in the middle of an ocean.  
  
So, therefore, he would not under any circumstances go to America. 


	3. Relocate

Rumrunner

AN: Huge thanks to Elektra for reviewing. Filch's father died of a massive coronary. Or perhaps sclerosis. Maybe even a stroke. :D I'm glad you enjoyed it, and am also glad I'm not posting this on this site in vain. Thanks!

  


**Chapter Two: Relocate**  


  


Four months later, Argus found himself on a boat headed to America.   
  
He cursed fate the entire time, stayed in his room for the duration of the voyage, and managed to drink enough for several men. Staying sloshed was the only real way that he knew to make the boat's constant rocking seem normal. He hated boats. He had gone up on the deck exactly once on this damnable excursion, and he had high-tailed it back below deck to his room as quickly as possible. Seeing nothing but the rolling ocean in any direction was disheartening, at best.   
  
It was a terrifying thought that all that kept him from endlessly deep water was something made by Muggles. Muggles, for the love of Aphrodite. They were an incompetent bunch of fools who just happened to outbreed the wizarding world. Muggles were as good at breeding as rabbits, from the number of them. Too bad their life span was a bit longer than the average bunny.  
  
Everything would be a lot simpler if Muggles were just mindless animals like many of the pureblood wizards believed. Some thought that they were just like wizards without magic, but Argus didn't like to think of it like that. Argus thought that even though Muggles weren't the most intelligent creatures, but they did try their best to work with what was given to them. Like building this boat, which he was hoping would make it to America.  
  
They might manage to work around their lack of magic, but it didn't do them a whole lot of good. They still couldn't accomplish half of what wizards had.   
  
He suddenly realized that since the Muggles had built this ship without using magic, none at all, that he too was capable of at least doing that well. There was no reason that he would have to go off on half-cocked missions to regain something he hadn't lost in the first place, even though he certainly missed it. He could do stuff without magic, after all. He could become a shop owner, or be a bartender, or something. There was something out there for him to do. And, he thought wryly, his mother was convinced that he would find that something, along with a perfect life, in America.  
  
He didn't quite hate his mother, but he had some strong feelings for her that couldn't be classified as affectionate. She had been the one to insist that he go to America in the first place. She insisted that there was a magical specialist there who worked with Squibs. The specialist supposedly helped Squibs find their magical potential.   
  
Argus thought that sounded like a big pile of horse hokey, but his mother's incessant nettling had finally worn him down to the point that he had boarded the boat to America of his own somewhat free will. Well, his free will and a large sum of money that his mother had foisted on him to spend how he wished. His mother could be very convincing when she felt that she needed to be, he had discovered.  
  
Filch sat on the bed that was bolted to the floor in one corner of his small suite, swirling the last bit of whiskey left in the bottle around morosely. The boat was chugging along as quickly as it could, but it wasn't fast enough for him. He tipped the bottle back, and took another swig, then dropped the empty bottle to the floor. It was going to be a long trip.  
  
He was pretty sure that he wasn't supposed to bring his own whiskey on board the ship, but he hadn't wanted to survive the trip without something from home to comfort him. Since the manor itself would most definitely not fit on the boat, he had chosen a few of his late father's finest bottles from the cellar. Of course, it wasn't like the quality of the liqueur mattered to him- he thought that as long as it didn't taste like week-old goat piss it was decent enough.   
  
However, it made him feel more dignified to be getting flat on the face drunk from some of the finest drinks money could buy. Like he was a wayward prince on a journey of exile...  
  
Argus shook his head. He knew it was time to go to sleep when he started to compare himself to a prince. He slipped under the covers, and shoved the pillow over his head. Hopefully they'd be there by tomorrow.  
  
*  
  
Argus ventured out onto the deck on the supposed last day of his imprisonment on the wretched hellhole they called a boat. He looked over the railing, watching as the water swept by and churned around the sides of the boat as it cut its way across the ocean. He tried to not think about the sheer quantities of water that lay beneath the boat, or of the creatures that undoubtedly lurked in the water's darkest depths.   
  
He looked at the horizon, and squinted. There was something there... He looked at it for a few more minutes before he realized what it was. Land! They were approaching land! He could soon set his feet down on nice, firm earth, without fear of sinking or drowning or creatures with tentacles or any of the other things that made oceans horrid.  
  
He had never thought that he would actually be glad to see America's shores. Maybe that was how it had gotten its reputation-everyone was so happy to see land, any land at all, when they arrived, that it just had to be a wonderful place. It was like standing next to the ugliest person you could find to make yourself look better, he mused.   
  
As Argus actually set foot and the land, he stumbled and almost fell to the ground.   
  
"Got to get your land legs back," smirked a nearby man. Argus scowled at him, but then a huge grin formed on his face. He was no longer on a boat! He was standing on land, which meant that the odds of suddenly sinking into the ocean were nearly nil. He swung his bag of belongings merrily as he slunk out of the harbor, avoiding the lines of immigrants waiting to be welcomed into America's loving embrace at all costs.   
  
He ended up climbing over a fence to avoid detection be any of the men roaming making sure that no one entered the country without being accounted for. Being as he didn't legally exist in the Muggle world, he thought it would only be for the best if he avoided their authorities.   
  
However, after getting over the initial giddy happiness of being on solid ground again, and after trying to make his way to the train station, Argus began to wonder why anyone liked this wretched land at all again. So far, he had gotten lost three times, jostled countless times, nearly hit by a car once, nearly hit by a piece of lumber once, and nearly hit by a fist once while he tried to navigate the overcrowded streets of New York City.  
  
He was not amused by the situation. Everyone was bustling along the street like they knew where they were going and no one would stop and give directions. To top it all off, everyone was in too much of a hurry to bother waiting for someone to get out of the way, rather, they elbowed their way through the crowds.   
  
Finally, he stepped into an alleyway to catch his breath. He was a small town boy, and unaccustomed to the hustle of big city life. He was watching the steady stream of people pass by the alley without even glancing in it when he was startled by the sound of somebody coughing nearby.  
  
"Gotta penny?" came a voice rusty from disuse.   
  
He looked over, and saw no one. He then looked down, and saw a man. He was an obvious derelict, and was dressed in the rattiest clothing Argus had ever seen on a human being. Holes and grime adorned the sleeves of his moth-eaten overcoat, and the cuffs of his trousers were nearly to his knees. The man's hair, or what of it Argus could see from below the battered hat he wore, was an unwashed and greasy brown color. A definite stench came from the man, and he was missing several teeth.   
  
"Erm, no, I don't," Argus replied. The derelict made him nervous. He'd heard stories told about pickpockets and murderers who looked like derelicts. His mother had even whispered of some of the stories of men who looked like vagabonds so that they wouldn't be recognized as murderers. She had said that one of the ladies' cousin's neighbour had once had a run-in with a derelict, and he had attempted to do unmentionable things to her. Derelicts were the scum on the bottom of the barrel, and Argus had never had reason to speak to one before.  
  
"Shame," said the derelict.  
  
"Yeah," agreed Argus quickly, wondering if the derelict could read his thoughts. He backed up a step.  
  
"Where're you off to in such a hurry?" The derelict smiled widely, showing off the gap where a front tooth might once have been. It was impossible to tell if the tooth had rotted out or been knocked out.  
  
"The train station," replied Argus, figuring that his destination wasn't vital information for anyone.   
  
"Really? Cuz that's in the other direction, you know."  
  
Argus flushed, and said stiffly, "I was getting there."  
  
"Of course," said the derelict merrily. "I'd just take the other direction for a couple of blocks before turning left, then going along 'til you see the station."  
  
Argus, affronted, just quickly mumbled his thanks before following the derelict's directions. He reached the train station, and bought a ticket to Detroit. He stared out the window for nearly the entire time he was aboard the train, lost in thought. Would this supposed specialist really be able to help him? Would he want the kind of help the specialist might offer? Would he really want to have magic?  
  
Well, of course he wanted magic. He was a Filch, part of a long line of wizards. He was supposed to be a wizard; this was just a particularly nasty turn of fate. He would give his right arm to have the ability to do magic. Though, thinking about it, that might be an exaggeration, because he would need his right arm in order to do magic. So, he would give his left big toe for the ability to do magic.   
  
He pulled the crumpled letter out of his pocket. He'd read it several times on the horrendous trip across that godforsaken ocean, but he now re-read the instructions on how to get to the offices of the specialist. He was supposed to find his way to the office by himself, something he had been confident he could do back home. Now, however, after his bewilderment in New York, he was unsure that he could manage to find the place. Yes, there were street names and everything, but still. Somebody ought to be sent to meet him, and ensure that he was safe on his journey across Detroit.  
  
After all, he'd heard all sorts of things about Americans from the boys back home, and that derelict had proven that they had been right. The whole bunch of them sounded like an unsavoury lot, and now he was going to be in the midst of them day and night until he could get back home. And getting back home would entail going back across that damn ocean.   
  
He allowed himself to imagine ways to get home without spending forever on a boat. His most plausible idea was to go all the way across America and up into the northern territories, and crossing from the wintry wasteland of Alaska into the wintry wasteland of Russia, and then crossing all of Asia...  
  
Maybe if he just stayed drunk the entire way back, the ocean wouldn't seem so bad. Of course, that idea hadn't worked on the way over, but that was beside the point. The point was, he was stuck in the middle of America without any clue of how to get to where he was supposed to be.   
  
He spent the rest of the trip in somewhat of a daze, either sleeping or fantasizing what was to occur once he got to Detroit, the so-called promise land. Magical assistance and becoming a true wizard, at best. Looking like a fool at the worst. Either way, he was away from his mother, and maybe he could find a niche somewhere here. There had to be something that he could do, even if it was as a Muggle, that would be better than the menial jobs his mother had mentioned before finding out about the specialist.  
  
He ate a meal that tasted as though it had been waiting to be consumed for months, and stared out the window of the train for the remainder of the trip in a rather mechanical fashion. He was just coming out of his introspective daze when the train whistle blew, signifying that they were approaching a station. He glanced out the window, and was a little startled to realise they were in Detroit. He could barely remember switching trains, or the long period of time that he had spent on the train.  
  
He exited the train with the stream of other passengers, clutching his satchel in his sweaty palms nervously. He remembered all too well the would-be thieves in New York that had tried to pull his bag away from him, depriving him of his only worldly possessions this side of the Atlantic. He was smart enough to have his money and important papers put in his innermost pocket, where pickpockets would hopefully be unable to retrieve it. But it still wouldn't do to be stuck here without a change of clothing.  
  
He made his way out of the moderately busy station, then stood on the street, looking around. It was late at night, or early in the morning, depending on how you looked at it. The streets were mostly empty, so he didn't really have to worry as much about getting lost in the crowds like he had in New York.   
  
He looked at the street sign, then set off. Here goes nothing.  


***

Thanks for reading!


	4. Red Light

Rumrunner

  


AN: Huge thanks to my wonderful beta, fantasy_snapdragon!

  


**Chapter Three: Red Light**

  


Argus looked up and down the dark street. It was nearly deserted, but that was only to be expected at this late hour. Somehow, Detroit didn't look how he had imagined it. He had thought it would look exactly like New York City had, but this city was more subdued. There weren't as many of the multi-storied buildings that New York had seemed so fond of, though there were more cars lining the streets. There were actually more cars lining the streets here than he'd ever seen in his home-town. 

  


He thought that cars were actually a quite brilliant way to travel. Much more comfortable looking than broomsticks or jumping through fires. Plus, there was the added advantage that they weren't powered by magic, so he was capable of driving one. That is, if he ever set foot in one. He did have to admit that driving along on four skinny tires made of some strange material, with nothing but metal parts powering it rather than horses, did seem rather dangerous. He peered inside the window of one as he passed. The round wheel in front of one seat perplexed him- what was that there for?

  


He looked up once reaching a corner, and inspected the street signs. He found the street he was supposed to go down, according to the instructions on the letter. He walked and wove his way through the town, following the directions he'd memorised on the train. Thankfully, he didn't get lost this time. After a while, he stood before a low brick building that had the name Gatti spelled out across the front. 

  


He looked at the entrance apprehensively. He knew it was late, but the letter said that any time was fine. He headed across the street, and knocked hesitantly on the door. A feminine voice called, "One moment, please."

  


He stood there, listening to the sounds of movement inside the building. After a few moments, the door was opened by a woman fast approaching old age. She was wearing an elegant gown, and an extravagant necklace heavy with sparkling and most likely fake jewels encircled her neck. 

  


"I am Madame Bella," she announced, taking his hand in hers. "Welcome."

  


"Hello," said Argus nervously. She really didn't seem like any sort of specialist, especially not a magical one. In fact, the entire place seemed to be completely Muggle. None of the pictures moved. Argus thought it was a bit odd watching a landscape without any birds swooping across the sky. It seemed dead.

  


She motioned for him to follow her down the dark hall, and he did. He looked around, and was surprised at how homey the place was decorated. He would have thought that a place where Squibs regained magic would have had a more clinical atmosphere. She led him into a parlour, of sorts. 

  


The furniture was plush and rich looking, and the carpet equally so. A few muted Tiffany lamps adorned tables, and everything was completely decked out in Art Nouveau style. Gorgeous paintings were hung on the elegant coloured walls, and there was a gleaming oak bar in the corner. Behind it, a man with a handlebar moustache and his shirtsleeves rolled up was pouring drinks, which was a mite odd due to current legality issues.

  


Argus noticed none of that. His eyes were set on the collection of women strewn artfully across the furniture and posing around the room. There were women of every shape, size, and color, from long, lean blondes to curvaceous black girls to a voluptuous Middle Eastern woman wearing a veil and not much more. Some of the women were dressed elegantly, some fashionably, some scantily. They were all made up as if they were about to spend the night painting the town red, and Argus had a feeling that was exactly their plan.

  


He was in a brothel. 

  


He'd heard stories, of course, from the village boys, and heard whispers of them from his friends, but he personally had never set foot in one. He knew that there were a few down Knockturn Alley; some that even catered to specialist tastes of the customers. He'd heard of one that employed only Animagi, with special rates for exotics and dangerous forms. One girl who could turn into a boa constrictor was practically infamous. 

  


He realized that Madame Bella was speaking. "Just choose whichever girl strikes your fancy."

  


And now the girls were introducing themselves- Collette and Angelina and Amina and Marie and Stella and Antha and Rosemary and Beatrice and Lissette and Isabella...

  


He could not even attach their faces to the sultry spoken names that were being tossed in his direction. He was too stuck on how much _skin_ was revealed by these girls' clothing. Witches never went out in robes shorter than ankle length. These girls, though, were revealing a scandalous amount of skin. He had never seen this many female knees exposed before in his life. Some of the skirts had just ridden up high, but a few were actually cut short enough for knees to be seen. 

  


He must have looked obviously overwhelmed, because the matron told him to take his time choosing. Then, a look passed on her craggy face, and she said, "Unless, of course, you would prefer one of our...specialties." 

  


Argus shook his head quickly. This was obviously a Muggle whorehouse, so he didn't have to contemplate Animagi or kinky curse throwing. He could only assume what she meant by speciality- he'd also heard the tales of brothels offering the services of young children of both sexes, and boys just reaching manhood for patrons whose tastes ran in a slightly less traditional manner.

  


He started to say that he was in the wrong place when a lovely girl in the corner caught his eye. She had silky dark hair bobbed short, with strands clinging to her cheeks. Big, kohl lined blue eyes peered out from her otherwise plain face, with her lips painted the same as the other courtesans, to look provocative and lush. He didn't recall her speaking with the other girls.

  


"What is her name?" he asked, motioning towards the girl.

  


"She is not an option," replied the matron. She made a motion that obviously meant that was that. The matron talked for a moment outlining prices and rules, but Argus paid her no mind. He was watching the girl. The other girls, sensing that he was not going to come to an immediate decision, dropped out of their sexy poses and began to chat amongst themselves, a few going over to the bar. 

  


His eyes were still locked onto the girl who was apparently not an option. He heard some noises from around back, male voices and loud clangs. The girl he was watching looked in the direction of a door that he assumed led out back, then started to cross the room towards him.

  


"Gisella, what are you doing?" hissed a dark skinned beauty wearing a vibrant red dress. 

  


"Quiet, Speranza," Gisella responded. 

  


"But-" Speranza protested, grabbing Gisella's arm. "You can't! You know they're right out back..."

  


"So?" Gisella brushed the other girl's hand off her arm, and continued over to Argus.

  


"Hello," Gisella said as she approached him. She fluttered her eyes, and there was no mistaking her stance for anything but flirtatious. 

  


"Hello," replied Argus, unsure of how to behave. He really shouldn't even be in a Muggle whorehouse, and he should leave immediately, but Gisella had him mesmerised. His whole being was focused on the angel before him.

  


"Come with me?" Her voice was playful, and there was no way he would turn down those angel eyes.

  


"O-of course," he replied. This place wasn't what he thought it would be, but he'd be damned if he let this opportunity pass him by.

  


Gisella led him up a flight of stairs, and then into a pristine room dominated by a heavy framed bed. She didn't lead him to the bed, however, but instead began to unbutton his jacket deftly, her small hands pushing the Muggle garment that his mother had bought him from his shoulders. It fell to the floor, and Argus nearly tripped over it as he took a tiny step back from Gisella.

  


Argus spoke. "I'm-"

  


"Shush." Gisella cut him off. "No names here."

  


"But the other girls..."

  


"I'm not the other girls."

  


She leaned over, and kissed him then. The first kiss between two strangers in a bedroom in a whorehouse ought to have been at least a little awkward, at least by Argus's reckoning, since there was no qualms about what was going to happen next. However, he found himself kissing this beautiful girl hungrily, and no thoughts about social qualms or awkwardness remained in his mind for long.

  


"Wha--" His protest was cut off mid-word as she unbuttoned his trousers as well. She kissed him again, and he slid his hands up and down her sides, loving the feel of the thin silk that separated her body from his touch. She pulled back a little, and pushed him towards the bed as she leaned in for another kiss.

  


"Gisella? What the hell are you doing?"

  


Argus's only thought as Gisella fled to the other side of the room and he frantically tried to regain his dignity was 'what the-?'

  


Two men dressed in immaculate suits with neatly combed hair were standing in the doorway. The door was still swinging slightly on its hinges as they entered the room, both men's full attention focused on Gisella. They both looked to be Italian, and Argus thought that the larger one on the right bore a remarkable resemblance to Gisella. 

  


"It's none of your business what I do!" snapped Gisella, hands on her boyish hips. "I am a grown woman, you know."

  


The larger man scowled at her. He had a scar cutting across his neck, Argus noticed, that looked like it had been rather painful. His nose looked like it had been hit with a frying pan, or perhaps a freight train. All in all, he looked like the type of man who could take on a rampaging bull and come out unscathed.

  


Argus wished vehemently that he had the ability to Apparate.

  


"I told you to wait in the lobby, Gisella, the lobby! Not to go cavorting about with some man. You know what kind of person comes to this sort of place!"

  


"Yeah, you come to this sort of place," shot back Gisella. "Besides, I was just having a little fun. I never get to go out anymore."

  


"Gisella, I can't believe you! What would our mother say if she could see you right now?" the large man snapped. Argus glanced around for exits from the room. Only the door that the two men, one the rather large brother of the girl he had thought was a prostitute, were blocking, and a tiny window high on one wall that Argus would never be able to fit through. Maybe he was destined to be killed in this Muggle whorehouse, then. He supposed there were worse ways to go...

  


Gisella yelled back at her brother, and the two began to bicker over their mother's morality. Argus just stood there, feeling both embarrassed and petrified. Finally, the second man took notice to him. "Hey, Aldo, what are we gonna do about that scumbucket?"

  


Aldo turned away from his yelling match with his sister, and looked Argus over. "We could fit him with some concrete shoes."

  


Argus hoped that they decided that concrete shoes were the wrong size for him. He then reconsidered that hasty decision as the unnamed man pulled a pistol out of his jacked and pointed it at him. The man's whole hand was twitching, and it was only a matter of time before the wrong finger twitched and everyone in the room would find out exactly how few brains Argus possessed. Argus figured that he ought to at least try to dig himself out of this hole he'd found himself in.

  


"I didn't know! I got lost!" Argus sometimes wondered about his own intelligence. That was possibly the worst excuse he had ever come up with, with the possible exception of the time he'd told his mother that the nonexistent house elf had been the one to break her most expensive vase after she had watched him trip over the edge of the carpet and knock it over.

  


The man with the pistol cocked it, and leveled it about even with Argus's face.

  


"Hold on, Giulio." said Aldo. It was hard telling who was more shocked, Giulio or Argus. Aldo turned to Argus. "Are you an immigrant?"

  


"No," Argus said. There was no way he would want to permanently live in this godforsaken country filled with derelicts, fake whores, and angry gun-toting brothers.

  


"You have an accent," said Aldo suspiciously.

  


"Because I'm not from this shithole country," replied Argus. "Don't see why anyone would _want _to be, personally. Awful place."

  


"America is the greatest country in the world!" exclaimed Giulio. Gisella looked slightly perplexed. Aldo looked intrigued.

  


"I didn't say any of the others were any better," Argus said. "If you ask me, there isn't a single place worth its salt on this whole damned planet. All of them filled with — morons and the sort. Even my country's terrible. See, I'm not overly fond of any country, though that godawful ocean that I just crossed made this one seem a lot worse."

"You just crossed the ocean?" There was a glint in Aldo's eye that Argus didn't like one bit. It was the sort of glint that got into boy's eyes just before announcing some half-baked plan to go out into the lake in the middle of a storm, or explore crumbling ruins at midnight on Halloween, or to try to see up the prettiest girl in town's skirt. 

"Yes," Argus said cautiously. 

"And you aren't an American citizen."

"No."

"Did you go through customs?"

"What?"

"So they won't have your prints or picture on file," continued Aldo.

"I hope not, considering as I'm just visiting here. Should probably leave tomorrow, actually, since it turns out I don't have any business here."

Giulio was now grinning maniacally, and Aldo still had the glint in his eye. Gisella looked a little worried with her hands fretting at her sides, but she obviously also knew what Aldo was getting at.

"How would you like to work with us?"

The question startled Argus, and he could only look at Aldo, confused. "You don't even know me. Why would you want to hire me... wherever it is that you work?"

"Because," replied Aldo, calmly pulling a pistol out of his jacket, "you don't have a choice in the matter." 

From the corner of his eye, he could see Gisella making a frantic motion with her hands. He didn't dare to turn his head to fully see what she was motioning, but he thought it looked like an encouraging movement. 

"Three seconds," Aldo announced calmly.

Argus quickly decided that whatever the job was, it couldn't be that bad. He stuck out his hand, and said, "Argus Filch."

Aldo stuck out the hand not holding the pistol, and said, "Aldo Torrio." They shook hands, and Aldo introduced the other inhabitants of the room. "That's my sister Gisella, and our cousin Giulio."

Argus nodded at Giulio, and glanced at Gisella. She was now standing next to Giulio, and looked rather pale.

Aldo pushed the door closed.

**


	5. Red Rum

  


**Chapter Four: Red Rum**

  
  
  


"Err," Argus said. 

  


Aldo moved away from the door, and Argus watched his movements carefully. The gun that had so recently been pointed directly at Argus' head now was dangling loosely in Aldo's large hand. Giulio had lowered his weapon completely, and had tucked it back somewhere inside his jacket. 

  


"Don't be so nervous, boy," said Aldo. "If we kill you, you'll have plenty of advance warning."

  


Somehow, that didn't reassure Argus as much as it was meant to. He went ahead and asked the question that was bothering him slightly. "What, exactly, does this job entail?"

  


"Whatever we say," replied Giulio. 

  


"What my cousin means is, you'll be doing a few," Aldo paused for a second before continuing, "odd jobs that we have."

  


"Odd jobs," Argus repeated. Nods from the two men confirmed this. "The kind of odd jobs I'm used to are painting, fixing fences, and gardening. Things of that like. I'm supposing that these odd jobs are a little different from that?" Argus gave the gun in Aldo's hand a pointed look.

  


"Well..." Aldo began.

  


A loud rap on the door stopped the man from telling the rest of the job description.

  


"What in the blue blazes is going on in there?" The voice sounded vaguely familiar. "I'm not running a meeting house, here."

  


The voice clicked in Argus' mind as Madame Bella's. 

  


"Shut the hell up, you stupid broad," growled Giulio through the door. 

  


"Don't you take that tone with me, young man," came Madame Bella's brisk voice. There was the jangle of keys, then the door knob jiggled a little bit. "I want you out of my fine establishment."

  


"Madame, we aren't doing any harm," Aldo said cajolingly. 

  


"I don't give a damn if you were knitting or planning a murder. It's obvious that none of you work here," a glare in Gisella's direction, "and none of my girls are earning any money from your presence. Get out."

  


"We'll only be a minute longer," said Aldo.

  


"No, you will be leaving, now. Do I need to call up Johnny?" snapped the old woman.

  


"Call him," replied Giulio. "I have a few words for that sorry son of a bitch."

  


Aldo rested his hand on Giulio's shoulder. "Calm down. We're going. Come on."

  


Argus followed the two out of the room, with Gisella close behind him. He saw her grin surreptitiously as Giulio began a rant about that 'goddamn old biddy.' A few moments later, he found himself just outside the parlour of the brothel. Two nervous-looking young men were now standing in the front of the room, and Argus was struck by how much the scene resembled an auction, though he wasn't quite sure who was being sold. It appeared that only the girls interested offered their names, and the others had quietly migrated to the back of the room. Strange how he hadn't noticed that when he'd been up there.

  


"Speranza," Giulio said loudly. The dark-skinned whore looked up, and shook her head in an 'I'm busy' manner. Giulio just said, "Get over here."

  


Speranza got up from her perch on the arm of a high-backed chair, and stalked across the room, and into the hallway. "What?" she snapped.

  


"Would you be a dear and escort Gisella home? Some unexpected business came up that we have to take care of."

  


Speranza shot Argus a sympathetic look. "Sure, darling. Come on, Gisella."

  


"No!" snapped Gisella. "I don't want to go home, and I most definitely do not need an escort."

  


"Gisella, it's late. Just go home, and we'll be back in a while," Aldo said.

  


"I'm a grown woman, I can stay out as late as I want," Gisella protested. 

  


"Gisella, if you go home now we'll neglect to mention this entire situation to Icepick. I can't promise that if you don't listen to us, so scram," Giulio said. 

  


Gisella glared, and said, "Fine. Come on, Speranza."

  


With that, the two young women took off in the other direction, one stalking ahead angrily while the other hurried along after her, heels clicking rapidly against the pavement.

  


Argus felt compelled to speak. "Who's Icepick?"

  


"Gisella's fiancé," replied Aldo with a decidedly wicked grin.

  


"Icepick?" asked Argus, almost positive he didn't want to know.

  


"His preferred method of getting the job done," replied Giulio.

  


"Oh," managed Argus. Perhaps that bullet to the head back in the whorehouse _would_ have been the better way to go. No one had mentioned anything about icepicks. 

  


"We'd best get going," Aldo said, walking to a Packard that sat on the curb. Giulio followed closely, but Argus hung back.

  


"Get over here," snapped Giulio.

  


"Okay," said Argus, approaching the car. It was large, and looked like all the other cars along the street. However, he was not being encouraged to climb into any of the other cars, so that made this car seem somehow more sinister. He hesitantly climbed inside, and set himself down on the plain leather seat. 

  


It felt oddly enclosed, in spite of the glass windows on every side. Aldo was now in one seat, sitting behind the round wheel, and Giulio was in the other front seat. The car started with a rumble, and Argus jumped. It was sort of like being on a very small train, he thought. Except that his eyes didn't sting from the coal dust, and he was sitting right behind the conductor. 

  


Aldo fiddled with a knob, and then the car took off to a smooth start. Argus stared out the window as the buildings slid past, and realized that Aldo was steering with the wheel, turning it to make the car move in either direction. Argus decided that riding in a car was a very nice way of travel, even if it was a bit nerve-racking.

  


After a few moments, Aldo pulled the Packard back to the curb in front of a narrow alleyway. The engine came to a sputtering stop as Giulio opened the door. "Follow us."

  


"But, won't everywhere be closed this late?" Argus asked. All the shops along the street were dark, though there did seem to be a large number of cars parked along the street for the late hour. 

  


"Of course not!" replied Aldo with a toothy grin, and began to walk down the alley.

  


Argus rushed to keep up, stepping over bits of rubbish that lay in the path. Aldo stopped in front of a plain door set in the brick wall just out of sight of the road. He knocked on it twice.

  


"Yes?" came a voice from the other side.

  


"Charleston," said Aldo. Argus realized it was a password, much like his mother had used on rooms he hadn't been allowed to enter as a child. He hadn't known that Muggles also made use of passwords.

  


"Right you are," replied the voice as the door swung open.

  


The speaker turned out to be a large built man wearing all black, and he gave each of them a good look-over as they entered the building.

  


Argus went from feeling rather overwhelmed to feeling that he was completely in over his head. This was some sort of club. Girls who were dressed much like Gisella had been were dancing wildly on a small dance floor, bared arms and legs flashing pale against the darkness of their partner's suits. Small tables were littered around the perimeter of the room, and Aldo led them to one in the very far corner. Despite the number of people in the club, this table felt secluded, and was set far enough back that no one could over hear the conversation over the loud jazz band up front.

  


Argus sat down in the chair facing the wall as Aldo and Giulio both scooted their chairs towards the other side of the table. He realized they had a perfect view of the rest of the room, while all he could see was the dark wall that had a faded poster for a wild-west show.

  


"Evening, fellows." Argus looked over to see a woman dressed in slightly more subdued clothing than the dancers standing beside the table.

  


"Good evening, Anna," replied Aldo.

  


"How're you doing? And who is this ham-and-egger?" asked Anna, smiling at Argus.

  


"Just an associate," replied Aldo. "And don't bother batting your eyes at him. He isn't interested."

  


"Horsefeathers. Everyone's interested," replied Anna, settling a slender hand on Argus' shoulder.

  


"Exactly my point," muttered Aldo as Argus shrugged off the woman's hand. He'd had enough trouble with strange girls already tonight. 

  


"Well, what'll it be?" sighed Anna, seeing that she wasn't getting anywhere with her flirtations.

  


"Scotch," announced Aldo, "for all of us." 

  


"Swell," replied the woman. "I'll be right back with your drinks."

  


Aldo waved vaguely after her, and then turned his attention on Argus. "Boy, you understand who we are?"

  


"Not really," said Argus. Honesty is the best policy, after all. Plus, he was pretty sure that a wrong answer around these guys would be extremely detrimental to his health.

  


"Have you seen the new flick _Dr. Mabuse, The Gambler_?" asked Giulio.

  


"No," replied Argus.

  


"Damn," replied Giulio. "That woulda made this easier to explain."

  


"Shut yer trap," snapped Aldo. He would have continued, but Anna had returned with drinks.

  


"Here you go," she said, setting down three teacups on the table. Aldo handed her a few identically printed pieces of paper. Anna walked off. Aldo must have noticed Argus' interest in the paper, because he said, "Money," in an explanatory way.

  


"Oh," replied Argus, "but wouldn't pieces of paper be worth less than coins?"

  


Aldo laughed, and said, "No, no. It just looks different, like it'd be worth less, but it all spends the same. No matter how you earn it, it all spends the same."

  


"Oh," said Argus again. He looked back down at the teacup. It was filled to the brim with amber liquid that looked nothing at all like the tea he'd grown up drinking. He picked it up, and took a slightly hesitant sip, then hastily put the cup down as the liquid burned a path down his throat. 

  


"Why is there scotch in the teacup?" he asked.

  


"Because the owner of this joint is a paranoid bastard," replied Aldo.

  


Argus fought the urge to say 'oh,' yet again, and instead said, "That's a good enough reason, I suppose."

  


He took another sip of the scotch, and watched the girls dance across the room.

  


"You know about organised crime and all that?" said Aldo conversationally. 

  


"I've heard stories," said Argus. 

  


"We're them," replied Aldo.

  


"Them?"

  


"The ones the stories are about. And we want you to be a part of us."

  


"Why?" asked Argus.

  


"You have potential," replied Aldo. "It'd be nothing major. You won't be high enough in the chain to be of interest to anyone, and you'll just do some odd jobs we have lying around."

  


"Such as?" 

  


"Well," said Aldo with a shark-like grin, "I did have something in mind..."

  


Argus didn't really have a choice in the matter, now did he? Thinking about the shiny guns hidden under the men's dark coats, he said, "Tell me about it." 

  


*

It was one week after Argus had set foot in the brothel. He now sat with Aldo inside his Ford. The car was parked outside of a small restaurant where the man he was supposed to kill was eating a late dinner, as he did every Thursday night. 

  


"Alonzo is a portly fellow," Aldo said, "looks just like a pig with a stomach-ache. You can't miss him."

  


"Err, okay," said Argus, who thought a more concrete description including height and hair colour and things of that sort might be a bit more helpful when planning a murder. He was pretty sure he would get killed if he took out the wrong man, because knowing his luck, it would be a boss.

  


"Now, go on, and remember- don't get caught," warned Aldo, and motioned for Argus to get out of the car. He did, carrying the case that held the gun he was meant to use on Alonzo. Alonzo was suspected of being a stoolpigeon, and had therefore earned himself a date with a thirty-two.

  


Argus crossed the street, and stepped into the alley immediately adjacent to the restaurant. After making sure that he was out of sight to the people passing by, he pulled the gun out of the bag, and stared at it for a moment. Its weight felt both comforting and frightening at the same time. 

  


He'd never killed anyone before. 

  


He'd learned to shoot from the Muggle village boys, during the long months when the others of wizarding blood were away at school. He had learned by shooting at tree stumps and at fence posts, and had become a relatively good marksman, particularly when shooting at unmoving objects. He had gone hunting, and had taken down a couple birds and squirrels, but never anything big. Just rodents. Though, he supposed he could look at Muggles as though they were rodents. Or a pig, even, if Aldo's description of his target was accurate. 

  


The gun's handle was surprisingly smooth, and fit in his hand rather well. He tested its aim, and wondered how much pressure on the trigger was necessary. It wouldn't do for him to press too hard or slow, and get surprised by gunshot when he was supposed to get out of there as soon as the Pigman hit the ground. 

  


He peered at his pocket watch. It was nearly time for Alonzo to exit the restaurant. According to Aldo, Alonzo always stopped in this very alley to take a leak before going home. Argus had wondered aloud why the man didn't use the facility inside the restaurant, but Aldo said that Alonzo enjoyed nature. Alonzo also had been known to admit that he enjoyed the thrill of knowing that a high-class lady might peer into the alley and catch a glimpse of his pride and joy at any moment.

  


Apparently, that was one of few ways he could get his jollies, if what was said about his appearance was indeed true. Aldo had also mentioned that Eduardo, the proprietor of one of the local brothels, had mentioned that his ladies gossiped about Alonzo's somewhat infamous performance anxiety. Apparently he never even got out of his trousers before the lady's services were no longer needed, and was then unable to properly receive any further attention.

  


And that was about all that Argus actually knew about the man he was meant to kill. 

  


He looked back at his pocket watch. Just a few more minutes before he became a murderer. He realised that he could, if he really wanted to, make a run for it right now. He could be gone, and far, far away before Aldo realized that he was never coming back. He knew that there was no specialist in giving Squibs magic here or probably anywhere in the world, though even he had to admit that giving the address of a brothel instead of an office was brilliantly cruel.

  


He could go back home. He could leave this godforsaken continent and be back home, where he could listen to his mother go on about his lack of magic and what the ladies thought of it. Or, he could stay here a while, commit murder, and work for a gangster.

  


What he'd seen so far of the gangster lifestyle was pretty nice. Aldo's 'modest home,' as he had called it, had been very nice, despite its somewhat rundown exterior. He knew that the amount of money he would earn if he did, indeed, kill the Pigman would easily get him back home if he so chose. But, he thought, recalling the blue-eyed beauty whom was engaged to a man in a similar job, there were definite perks to staying here that he would definitely not receive if he returned home. His mother still treated him like a child, despite the fact that he was in his nineteenth year of life. 

  


Just then, a portly fellow who looked like a pig with a bad stomach-ache strolled into the alley, and began to take a leak against one wall. He didn't even notice Argus. Argus considered his options, came to a decision, raised the gun, and played God.

  


_Bang._

  


Alonzo fell to the ground, a new hole adorning his head. His pride and joy lolled against his fly, still dribbling urine onto the expensively tailored trousers. A gory splatter of blood and brain adorned the wall, just a little ways up from the writing on the wall that Alonzo had been working on at the time of his death. 

  


Argus stared at the fallen man for a second, then shoved the warm gun into his bag. Recalling Aldo's advice to get the hell out of there as soon as he'd done the hit, he fled the alley, looking around as subtly as he could to see if anyone noticed him.

  


He didn't see anyone. 

  


He took several turns, following the detailed instructions that Aldo had given him earlier that day. Finally he arrived at the place where he was going to meet up with the Torrio cousins. Aldo and Giulio were already waiting there, sitting in the Ford in the parking lot of an apartment building. 

  


"Well?" Aldo asked.

  


"I got him," replied Argus. A grin broke out on Aldo's face, and he announced, "I knew you would. Giulio, you owe me five dollars."

  


They had bet five dollars on whether he would go through with the hit or not? He had figured out enough about Muggle American currency to realize that was, while not a truly phenomenal amount, more than most people would bet on something trivial.

  


Aldo handed Argus a plain envelope. "Your payment." 

  


Argus peered into the envelope, and decided that there were a satisfactory number of bills inside. He tucked the envelope inside his jacket with shaking hands, and wondered what would happen next. 

  
  


***

  


Thanks for reading!


	6. Repercussions

Chapter Five: Repercussions 

  
  


Giulio climbed out of the car, took the case from Argus' white-knuckled grip, and pushed him towards the front seat. A few moments later, Argus was sitting beside Aldo in the passenger's seat, and Giulio sat in the back clutching the case containing the gun like his life depended on it.

  


"What's going on?" asked Argus as Aldo pulled out into traffic. He was proud to notice that he only clenched the seat in terror for a second.

  


"Nothing," replied Giulio quickly.

  


Aldo sighed dramatically. "We may as well share with the kid, since he's one of us, now."

  


There was something about Aldo's tone that made Argus feel as though he was in the middle of a rather complex, probably lethal practical joke. He hated practical jokes.

  


"We had to get well away from there before all the pigs came out of the wood works," Aldo explained as he pulled the car to a stop at an intersection.

  


"But why would the, uh, pigs be coming out the woodwork?" Argus said, a feeling of dread that had nothing to do with Aldo pulling out a little too close to a fruit truck settling in his stomach. 

  


"They tend to get riled up over the death of one of their own," said Giulio. "Kind of like we do, actually."

  


"One of their own?" Argus's voice hit a note that he hadn't heard from his own throat since the age of thirteen. "There was another hit tonight?"

  


Giulio grinned widely at him. "Not to my knowledge. You know anything about any other hits, Aldo?"

  


"I haven't heard anything either. Imagine that." 

  


"But-but-" Argus was panicked. "You said he was a stoolpigeon!"

  


"Did I?" Aldo asked. "I mean that he'd talked to a stoolpigeon."

  


"I killed a policeman?" 

  


"You did it very nicely," replied Giulio. "I mean, listen to the sirens. It took them a good five minutes to call the law, at least."

  


"But they'll be looking for me!" Argus exclaimed, hunkering down in his seat. He had killed the Muggle equivalent of an Auror. Dear lord. Only a week amongst them and he'd already turned heathen, just like his mother had always said. Though he wasn't exactly sure that being a heathen was the terrible thing she'd always implied... Still, that did nothing to erase the feeling that he might be finding out what the Muggle equivalent of Azkaban was sometime soon. And with everything else they did being so much more bloodthirsty, he definitely did not want to find out what their prison was like first hand.

  


"See, that's the brilliant part," said Aldo. "They won't."

  


"You just told me I killed a cop! Of course they're gonna be looking for me!" Argus exclaimed. "Anyone could have seen down that alley!"

  


"True, but would they have recognized you?" Aldo said, much too calmly for Argus's liking. 

  


"They might have," Argus replied slowly.

  


"How? You've only been in the country a week. You aren't registered anywhere, and you have no criminal record." Giulio spoke this time, in a slow, patient tone, as if he was talking to a particularly stupid child.

  


"They-they could describe me," Argus said. He knew that he looked like a madman as he threw his hands up, trying to impress upon the two men the magnitude of the situation. 

  


"As what? A medium build, brown haired man with no distinguishing markings whatsoever and wearing completely nondescript clothing?" Aldo said. "There are a million men who look just like you across the state."

  


"It's foolproof," said Giulio. "Unless..."

  


Argus, who had been relaxing as the truth of Aldo's statements comforted him, sat up sharply. "Unless what?"

  


"Unless we become displeased with your service," replied Aldo.

  


"Then what?" Curiosity killed the cat.

  


"Then, the gun that Giulio is so kindly holding onto will find its way onto the police sergeant's desk before you know what's happening."

  


"But... but if they don't know who I am..."

  


"They will when you're delivered, hog tied and in a potato sack, to the same station as the gun with a nice little note attached to your forehead. Then, it'll be a small matter of comparing your fingerprints to the gun..."

  


"Then you've earned yourself a lifetime stay at Michigan's finest accommodations."

  


The smiles on Aldo and Giulio's faces were nearly ghoulish in the dark car. Argus swallowed, and realized just how deep of a hole he had managed to dig for himself in the few days he had been free of his mother.

  


**

Argus ended up sitting at the table in Aldo's kitchen later that night, drowning his sorrows in the scotch Aldo had provided for him.

  


"Hi."

  


Argus jumped at the sound, knocking over his glass. "Shit," he cursed, pushing his chair away from the table as the scotch formed a puddle on the otherwise clean tabletop. He looked over to see Gisella laughing at him.

  


"You're graceful tonight," she said, getting a towel from the counter and wiping up the mess. She picked the glass up, and, noticing there was still some scotch left, lifted it and swallowed the last swig with a waste-not want-not shrug. 

  


"I'm never graceful," replied Argus honestly. "I just seem to be even less graceful around you."

  


As soon as the words came out his mouth, he knew that he needed to lay off the scotch. What kind of idiot said things like that to beautiful angels?

  


Gisella giggled, and looked coyly away as she said, "You're real sweet. It's too bad you got yourself involved in all this," a wave of her hand, "stuff."

  


"You're involved in all this stuff, too," Argus replied. He watched as Gisella went from happy and amused to completely sombre.

  


"Not by choice," she said. "I couldn't do anything to prevent Aldo from getting mixed up in all that."

  


"How _did_ he get involved in all this?" Argus asked, intrigued. Aldo seemed like he'd been born into the gangster lifestyle. He honestly couldn't imagine the man as anything else. Giulio, either, for that matter.

  


"Well, our parents died, and left him an orphan with a little sister to watch after. He had a job running errands for some big cheese, and it turned out that big cheese was very involved in the sort of activity that Aldo does now. He was drawn in by the money, and he never managed to get back out. I don't think he even wants out." Gisella spoke quietly. The only betrayal of her feelings about her brother's actions was the way she clenched the towel with white knuckles.

  


Argus didn't quite know what to do, so he reached over and patted Gisella's hand. His mother probably would have said something like _there, there_ or _do you want some tea? _to her, but Argus refused. Instead, he stared at the wall, and said, "I killed a man tonight."

  


He glanced over to see Gisella drop the towel, and stare at him. "W-what?"

  


"Tonight. I shot a man in the head," Argus said blithely. He allowed his bitterness and exhaustion to leak back into his voice as he continued. "I'd never killed anyone before, you know. Never even really considered it."

  


"I didn't mean to get you involved--"

  


"Don't apologize. Whatever you do, don't try to take back what happened, even with words," Argus said with conviction. "Because you know what I learned tonight?"

  


"What?" Gisella asked. She looked mildly frightened at Argus' abrupt change of mood.

  


"I learned that I could care less about that man's life. I learned that splatters of blood and brain and piss won't make me sorry. I learned that I finally have a life outside of my mother's garden." Argus leaned close to Gisella, who looked like she wanted to bolt. "And I learned that riding in a car isn't as terrifying as it looks."

  


Gisella choked back a surprised bark of laughter, and said, "I should really go to bed. It's late."

  


"It's not that late," said Argus. He was surprised to find himself stroking her hand, and was even more surprised when she didn't pull away.

  


"You're cute, but you know I've already got somebody," Gisella said. She leaned forward, and kissed his cheek. "You should get some rest. Sleep off whatever you've been drinking all night."

  


"I should," he murmured back to her.

  


She rose, and with one last glance at him with those blue eyes that he was so deeply entrenched in, left him alone with his empty glass.

  
  
  


**

  


Aldo said, " I have another job, if you're interested. It's not quite as clean as the last one, but I think you can handle it."

  


Argus just nodded. 

  


It was two days later when he found himself standing in the basement of Giulio's townhouse, staring at the bag Giulio had shoved in his hands. It was similar to the doctor-style brown leather bag that he had used for the Pigman hit, but its contents were markedly different.

  


"What exactly am I supposed to do?" he asked, prodding at the contents of the bag.

  


"You're gonna get some information out of a gentleman for us," replied Giulio. 

  


"With this?"

  


"Of course." Giulio's grin was a little too barbaric for Argus's comfort.

  


"Err...okay. What exactly am I supposed to find out?"

  


"His boss's name, and the name of the last whore he saw."

  


"Oh. Of course. Why me?"

  


"Because," Giulio said slowly, as if explaining the concept to a disobedient dog, "you are new. Therefore you have whatever reputation we tell this man. And if you prove what we say to be true..."

  


"Then I get to be the scary inquisitor to all of this man's buddies?" Argus said, seeing the plan.

  


"Exactly. Now that we've got that settled... I'm gonna go fetch the gentleman, and you can just- wait here, and set it all up. I'd put something on the floor, so the carpet doesn't get ruined." With that, Giulio left.

  


Argus looked back in the bag, his mind flying about how he was supposed to put its contents to use. Sure, they had told him this one was going to be messier than the last hit, but he hadn't thought that _torture_ was going to be a part of it. He pulled out the manacles that were in the bag, and looked under them. All that was left was an ordinary claw hammer. 

  


How was he going to manage this?

  


He obediently hung the manacles on the hook that was deeply embedded in the basement wall, and found an old tarp flung off in one corner that he laid across the carpeted floor. He studiously ignored the smears on the tarp. Why did Giulio even have carpet in this basement, other than just because he _could_? Argus sat down in a plain wooden chair that was at a small, battered card table that was in the corner of the basement where he had set the bag down. He took a steadying breath, and pulled out his instruments. 

  


He was looking closely at the hammer, wondering if all the dark spots were rust, or if some were dried blood when the door swung open. Giulio and a massive man Argus hadn't seen before came down the stairs, carrying a struggling gunnysack between them. They dumped it on the tarp, and Giulio kicked it a couple good times. 

  


"I'm Treetop," said the huge man. He had to be damn near six and a half feet tall. Argus felt dwarfed just standing beside him. They watched Giulio put the gunnysack into its place, until it stopped moving, even after being poked with the barrel of Giulio's forty-four. 

  


Argus' hands twitched around the hammer as Treetop and Giulio pulled the gunnysack's unconscious contents out, and shoved him against the wall, face out. He carefully set the tool down as Giulio clasped the manacles around the unconscious man's wrists with quick, practiced movements, and made sure they were locked properly. 

  


"He's coming back around," Giulio announced a few minutes later. He slapped the chained man's cheeks, and said cheerfully, "Wake up, Sonny."

  


"Gahrg?" said the chained man.

  


"It's your lucky day!" exclaimed Treetop. 

  


The chained man didn't look as though he would agree with that statement. If his tattered, bloody appearance was anything to go by, this had probably been the least lucky day he'd had in quite a while. Hopefully, anyway, for his dry cleaner's sake.

  


"Yeah, Sonny," Giulio announced. "We just got a new partner in our association whose specialty is in extracting information. And I guarantee, he will _extract_ any and all information that you have."

  


Sonny made a teeny sound. He was extremely pale, and looked as though he might pass out at any moment. Argus leaned back in his chair, surveying the man coldly. He hadn't lost any sleep over the last job he had done, and he was determined that he wouldn't over this one either. He picked up the claw hammer, and gave a few experimental swings with it, noticing that Sonny's eyes were glued to it. He gave the chained man his best sadistic grin, and waved the hammer a little in his direction. Sonny turned a shade paler.

  


"Hey, Manacle! Get over here and meet your... client," Treetop called. Manacle? Was that supposed to be him? He guessed so, being as there wasn't anyone else in the room. He got up and walked over to the two standing men. 

  


"Yeah?" His gruff voice actually sounded in place in this dark basement. The claw hammer was still held loosely in one hand. In the gloom, it looked as though Sonny had wet himself. 

  


"We will leave you to your business now," Treetop announced. A sardonic wave of fingers. "Have fun!"

  


The two experienced gangsters turned and left the room, just like that. No ceremony, no further conversations, no instructions. Just the knowledge that he had to force two names out of this miscreant that was hanging on the wall. 

  


His somewhat tattered sense of morality told him that torturing a man for money probably wasn't the best thing to do. His mother probably wouldn't approve, and protest that it was below his station in life to do grunt work. He found that the idea, beyond that, didn't really bother him much at all. In fact, the look of fear in Sonny's eyes was rather exhilarating. 

  


He approached the man, and brushed the hammer against his face. "Tell me what I need to know."

  


Sonny looked as though he really, really wanted to, but shook his head instead.

  


"Your boss's name, and the last whore you saw. Two names, and I'll call my associates back in here to get you," Argus said. He couldn't quite believe that he was using Giulio as the nice guy. Sonny shook his head again, looking more reluctant than ever.

  


"Fine," Argus replied. He reared the hammer back, and let it fly.

  


Sonny screamed.

  


The hammer hit the block wall inches away from Sonny's face with a dull _thud._

  


The hot stench of urine met Argus' nose, and he knew for sure that Sonny had wet himself this time. He backed away, and sat down in a hopefully calm manner at the rickety card table. He took a few slow breaths, steadying himself. 

  


For the briefest second, he'd wanted to sink the hammer into Sonny, not the wall.

  


He calmed himself down, doing his best to keep a stiff upper lip. It wouldn't do to show weakness to the man he was intimidating, now would it? He looked down at the hammer, and caressed the smooth handle for a moment. The feel of the wood beneath his fingers was reassuring. Probably this was how true wizards felt about their wand, he mused.

  


The thought startled him, and he quickly stood up. This was no time for dillydallying around. He refused to feel inadequate while he was working.

  


Sonny must have seen the look in his eyes as he crossed the room. He began blubbering, and tears that had been leaking out of his eyes for a few minutes now began to flow more, creating wet paths down his dirty, bloody face. Argus only had to raise the wicked looking hammer before Sonny broke.

  


Sonny started talking.

  
  



	7. Realizations

Rumrunner

  


AN: Huge, loving thanks to both Ozma and Rainpuddle, for being super! And maybe for reviewing too. :)

  
  


**Chapter Six: Realizations**

  
  


Blood blossoms and anguished screams stemming from cracked throats. Earthy fertilizer created out of sheer terror, and hair ripped out like unwanted weeds. Blades tilling flesh.

  


God, he loved gardening. 

  


That was his private name for what he did, day in and day out. Giulio had realized, after Argus had strolled up the stairs not a half hour after being left with Sonny with all the information requested that he had a natural on his hands. There hadn't even been a mark on the kid's body when all was said and done, other than the bullet hole that Treetop had inflicted and the bruises of Giulio's makings. 

  


So, Giulio had given Argus another job, this one with someone known for being tough. Forty-three minutes after the man had been delivered, Argus had found out everything from his shoe size to when he lost his virginity. Oh, and a few times and places of meetings between a few of the bosses. They'd let that man go, and Argus' reputation had become more and more exaggerated since. 

  


Aldo had been extremely impressed, and over the months since Argus had become somewhat of a specialist within the business. He was still called out every once and again to do a hit, but for the most part, his job entailed more delicate uses of his talents. His nickname was now undisputedly 'Manacle,' though he wasn't really sure how he felt about that yet.

  


True, he did enjoy working people, getting them to tell him things that they had sworn not to. He enjoyed the look of anger, defiance, fear in their eyes. He enjoyed feeling skin break beneath the blade of the newest toy that had found its way into his toolbox, a scalpel which he knew had dried blood mixed in with the dark rust that decorated its blade. He enjoyed seeing the same tricks work on men of every size, shape, and disposition. He enjoyed feeling the solid weight of the hammer as it flew through the air towards a victim.

  


He had learned to ignore the niggling doubts that came creeping from his conscious, telling him that getting paid to torture Muggles by other Muggles wasn't exactly the nicest thing that he could be doing with his life. He vehemently denied any thoughts about the wrongness of the actions from even forming, and pushed aside any moral dilemmas. This was the most enjoyable thing he had ever done. It couldn't be all bad. After all, it wasn't like he was conducting business with any innocents. Not a man came into his office that hadn't killed, maimed, or worse before.

  


His reputation was growing within the circles of power, and he knew that his name was beginning to become a synonym for pain. 

  


Unfortunately, a reputation did not help him at all when it came to living arrangements. He had been kicked out of Aldo's home after a week, and he had been living in a cheap boarding house ever since. He hated the stale, grey room he stayed in with a passion, but knew that the anonymity that it offered was too precious to risk. No one asked any names here, and he returned at all hours of the day and night in all sorts of states, sometimes his long black coat the only thing hiding gore splattered shirts. He had invested a lot in his wardrobe of late, though mostly in quantity rather than quality.

  


Aldo had arrived at his cheerless room one day, and announced, "I got you an office."

  


Argus had been confused. "Why?"

  


"Because Giulio's sick of his basement smelling like shit," replied Aldo. "Come on. I'll show it to you."

  


And so Argus had followed Aldo. They arrived at a plain brick building just as the sun was setting. Argus couldn't see what the name on the front of the building was. He stepped out of the car, and noticed..._ something _almost immediately. He wasn't quite sure what was off about the place, but there was something. 

  


Aldo got out of the car, and started walking briskly towards the front entrance.Argus followed, unsure. There was something odd about the place...

  


They arrived at the front door, and Aldo opened it and stepped inside. Argus stepped in right after him, and nearly stepped right back out as the smell hit him. Sharp and coppery, thick and meaty and visceral...

  


He was inside a slaughterhouse. 

  


Aldo was walking down a dark corridor just off the main lobby, and had not even noticed, or if he did, acknowledged Argus' hesitation. Argus glanced around, and noticed that there was nothing amiss in the lobby. It was just a lobby. He hurried after Aldo, and figured that maybe the office was upstairs, away from the killing floor. 

  


He was wrong. 

  


The corridor that Aldo led him down opened up onto the killing floor, which wasn't quite as full as he would have expected, though it was easily as bloody. He watched, somewhat appalled, as a boy his age reared back a hammer, and smashed it into a cow's skull. The cow's legs buckled, and it collapsed, dark fluid staining its white face, and leaking onto the concrete floor. 

  


The floor had grates along it, presumably for the blood and other bodily excretion to wash down. The whole place stunk, and Argus really wasn't sure that he wanted to be there. It just all seemed so crude and cruel to him. Lining the cows up, killing them, hacking them apart. None of them stood a chance, and none of the workers seemed very affected by the slaughter going on. They were deadened to it all, just moving mechanically so they could get their pay and feed their families.

  


Argus stared at the dead cow, seeing the glossy blankness of the eyes that had become familiar to him recently, and shuddered_. It's completely different_, he told himself. _The people I work on are all criminals- thieves, rapists, murderers. I'm not just lining up innocents to be ploughed down by my hand. I'm just doing a job, one that I'm good at._

  


Another cow was killed.

  


_And there's nothing wrong with my job._

  


Blood dripped down the drain.

  


_And at least I'm not considered a cripple._

  


A worker laid his bloodstained hammer down as he announced he was going on break.

  


_Even if I am cruel sometimes..._

  


A blood covered worker laughed as an equally bloodstained man told a raunchy joke.

  


_It's better than rotting away at home._

  


"Argus?" Aldo, who had been making his way to another tiny hallway just off the main floor of the slaughterhouse, stopped and looked back at the transfixed man.

  


"I-I'm coming." 

  


Argus followed him, and found himself in a tiny, windowless room. Its floor was also grated, and several new hooks were installed along the far wall. Argus immediately recognized them as the kind that he hung his manacles from. 

  


"This is your new office," said Aldo needlessly. 

  


Argus shook off the last of the lingering doubts, and glanced around the room, noticing a big problem right off. "But- how are the clients meant to be delivered? We can't exactly have all the employees watching Treetop drag them in here!"

  


"Really, Manacle, do you have that little faith in me?" Aldo said, looking indignant.

  


"Yes," Argus replied truthfully. As much as he appreciated all Aldo had done for him, he still didn't quite trust the man who had hired him by putting a gun up to his head. He knew enough about how things worked now to know that any of his new friends would kill him in a New York minute if the circumstances demanded it. Maybe even if the circumstances didn't demand it, depending on how drunk they were at the time.

  


There was, he reflected, something exhilarating about knowing that you were walking on thin ice every time you left your bed. Knowing that your friends couldn't be trusted, strangers couldn't be trusted, and that most importantly, you couldn't be trusted, even by yourself. He revelled in the fear and paranoia that his world now languished in, and he wondered how he could have ever been that simple country boy who spent his days doing chores for his mother and occasionally going out to make trouble with the locals he called friends. 

  


"There's a back entrance," Aldo said. "Back around that way." He made a motion in the opposite direction from where they had arrived.

  


"Then why didn't we come in that way?" Argus asked, mentally flinching at the recollection of the dying cows that reminded him all too much of what he was going to be doing in this tiny room.

  


"Because then I wouldn't have gotten to see you squirm."

  


Of course. Why else would Aldo have led him through that horrible place, if not for a cheap laugh? Argus inspected the room again. It would work very well for his job, and he supposed that Giulio would be happy to not have to deal with dragging people out of his basement without anything getting noticed by the neighbours.

  


At least there weren't as many bodies to be disposed of as it sometimes felt. Not everyone who got questioned was killed. In fact, the majority weren't. Often times, Argus didn't even have to break the skin before getting the information that he needed. His reputation preceded him, and the client just spilled out whatever he wanted to know without him even having to take out his ever-growing collection of toys. 

  


Argus had taken to finding out extra tidbits, things that he could use against the people. He wrote them all down in a notebook that he carried, though he used Trollish rather than English, lest the notebook fall into the wrong hands. 

  


To think, he had thought his mother had gone daft when she had insisted that he learn a virtual menagerie's worth of languages as a child and young man. Even after he had been officially recognized as a Squib, his mother had still made him continue his study of magical history, creatures, and languages. She had insisted that he needed to know things to get anywhere in the world, and he knew that she was probably right.

  


He hadn't written to his mother since his arrival in Detroit. He had reasons, of course. He was busy with work. He hadn't really accomplished anything that he could write home about. And, the most important reason, he had no clue where the magical community was. Not the faintest idea. He hadn't bothered to really find out beforehand because, well, he hadn't planned on staying very long. And, if there _had_ been a Squib specialist here, they would have been able to direct him to a local owlery. However, there had been no specialist, and he had remained here, without an owl, which in turn meant that he was incapable of actually sending any letter that he might write. 

  


And he couldn't exactly send a letter by Muggle post, being as the Filch ancestral home had Muggle-repelling charms all over it, and no registered address to boot.

  


He wondered if his mother was concerned about his welfare, but doubted it. After all, there was nothing stopping _her_ from writing him a letter, now was there? She was probably happy that the family embarrassment was out of sight, and therefore out of mind. 

  


He realized that over these past few months, he had not dwelled on his condition very much at all. In fact, he had hardly given his Squib condition any thought at all. Being surrounded by Muggles, he didn't have to be faced with reactions to his deficiency day in and day out. In fact, he could go entire days with only the barest thoughts of magic and the world he had been born into. 

  


He understood that magic was required to get along in the magical world. He knew this, just like he knew the sun would always rise and that it would always set. It was the way that things worked. To be born lacking the very substance that held his world together was a catastrophe. Magic, in his eyes, was a tangible, living thing. He was only half a man because he didn't have this living thing, magic, inside him. He was lesser than his peers, his elders, and even the halfbloods and Mudbloods that his mother had for so long criticized. 

  


It was only when he had shamed the family by being born without magic that she had stopped insulting the so-called lesser forms of wizards and witches. At least, to his face. He personally now understood why Mudbloods were so looked down upon, as he realized that these people, who hadn't even known magic existed, who most likely not ever given magic a second thought in their pitiful lives, were accepted to wizarding schools because _they_ had magic. They had something he should have been born with. They were gifted, while he was left behind. 

  


Muggles, at least, didn't care about whether or not he had magical ability. They were concerned with other things, like his skill with guns and blades, and his ability to keep things quiet, and his talents as a part of them. Despite their own prejudices, they accepted him, not knowing or caring that he had been an outcast in his own society. 

  


And for that, he had a grudging respect for the whole lot of them.

  


**

  


"Come on, Argus! It'll be fun, I promise!" Gisella's voice was pleading, and Argus knew that there was no way he would be able to turn down those blue eyes. He had come by to tell Aldo that his new office was working out very nicely, and had found himself chatting with Gisella in the foyer after she had informed him that Aldo was out on business.

  


"Fine," he sighed.

  


"Oh, you're going to love it! There's nothing more exciting than going to see a picture!" Gisella exclaimed, then she lowered her eyes and said, "Well, almost nothing," in a tone that sent shivers up Argus' spine. 

  


"Don't make me regret this," he said warningly, even though he knew perfectly well that he would kill to spend more time with Gisella.

  


"Oh, you won't! We're going to have a fantastic time! It's only too bad the others won't be able to come," she said, trailing a finger up his arm. 

  


"No one else is coming?" Argus asked.

  


"No one," Gisella confirmed. "It'll just be you and me." She laughed, a low sound that made Argus want to do more than just stand there and look at her. 

  


"Just us?" Argus said, feeling dumber by the second. He knew that Gisella was acting flirtatious towards him. He knew that she'd also told him many times that she was engaged. He knew that he very much wanted to be very alone with her. However, he also knew that he couldn't go to the picture with her alone. He very much treasured all his bits, and Icepick very much had a sadistic streak.

  


"You're too much," Gisella said. "I'm going to go get my coat. I'll be back lickety-split!"

  


Argus watched as she ran up the stairs. She had complete enthusiasm for everything that she did, which was something that he envied about her. Despite the fact that there was barely more than a year's difference in their ages, Gisella constantly made him feel like an old man, like he was jaded beyond his years. Her bright cheeriness and light flirtations and carefree attitude to everything that came her way were traits he would never possess, and traits he treasured in her.

  


She appeared again at the top of the steps, and skipped down, tripping lightly on the last step. He stepped forward and half caught her in his arms. They stayed that way, with Gisella in Argus' embrace, for several long seconds, neither wanting to move. Argus had just worked up the nerve to lean down to kiss her when the phone trilled in the parlour.

  


"I'll go answer that," Gisella said, straightening herself and touching her hair in a surprisingly self-conscious manner. "You can just wait here."

  


Argus nodded, and stood there as she walked into the other room. He heard the light click as Gisella picked up the phone, then her airy voice saying, "Hello?"

  


A pause. 

  


"Are you okay?" Gisella sounded concerned. Argus leaned against the wall next to the entrance to the parlour, and tried to look casual as he listened in on what Gisella was saying.

  


"Stop crying, it's okay, I can't understand you," Gisella said in a soothing manner, but Argus could tell she was worried. Had Aldo been hurt? Giulio? "No, no, sweetie, it's okay to cry. Just- no! Don't do anything rash!"

  


A long pause. Argus could hear Gisella's dress rustling as she moved around the room. "I'm coming over. I'll bring Loretta, she'll know what to do. No, don't do anything! We'll be there within the hour!"

  


Argus moved away from the parlour door as he heard Gisella hang up the phone after a hurried 'good-bye' to whoever she had been speaking to. 

  


"Argus, I'm going to have to postpone," she announced as she dug in her small handbag, finally producing a set of keys that Argus knew went to the roadster she often sped around town in. "Bye!" 

  


And then she was out the door.


	8. Royal Flush

Rumrunner

  


AN: Thanks to Ozma for reviewing! I'd also like to give a little heads up... this chapter touches on a sensitive issue (abortion) so if anybody is not comfortable with reading about that, you might want to skip this chapter. Thank you.

  
  


**Chapter Seven: Royal Flush**

  


Argus was still wondering where Gisella had ran off to that night she had almost taken him to a picture. He had made his way home after a few minutes of standing in the Torrio's front hall like an idiot, half expecting Gisella to reappear to whisk him off to some secluded corner of Detroit where she would cheerfully have her way with him. Well, perhaps that had been more hope than expectation. It was a week later, and he was sitting at a table in the living room of Aldo's house, playing poker with the boys. The boys consisted of Aldo, Giulio, the notorious Icepick, and a good ole southern boy by the name of Jack.

  


"Your deal," announced Giulio, handing Argus the deck. He shuffled the cards somewhat awkwardly, but to his pride didn't drop any. 

  


"Five card draw," he said, dealing cards around the table before setting the leftover cards in the centre. He had been hopeless at all forms of the card game when he had first started playing, but now he was decent. Decent meaning he actually knew the rules of the game, and was therefore not tricked into thinking he'd lost with every hand. He now flushed when he recalled Treetop telling him that getting five cards of the same suit meant that you automatically lost, and if they were in _order_ that meant you had to pay twice the current bet into the pot.

  


He still wasn't good, by any means, but he was determined to win at least one game. He'd managed to win a couple of hands tonight, which was somewhat of a miracle. 

  


"I'll take two," said Icepick. Icepick unnerved Argus, for more than one reason. First of all, he was engaged to Gisella. Second of all, his name was derived from his preferred method of execution. Third, he was built like a brick shithouse. Fourth, he had obviously heard about how, exactly, Argus had been recruited into the business, judging from the hateful looks that were being periodically shot in his direction.

  


"Four for me," said Giulio.

  


"Three," said Aldo.

  


"None for me," announced Jack cheerfully. Argus wasn't quite sure about Jack yet. The young man just didn't sit right with him. Jack was from down south, Knoxville, Tennessee to be exact. He was well liked throughout their part of the business because every month or so he would cruise down to his hometown and pick up a load of the south's finest export. 

  


Even Argus, disgruntled about the country he was now residing in as he was, had to admit that the homemade liqueur that Jack had been pouring them all evening was fine stuff indeed. Just about better than anything that he'd had back home, and that included the Ogden's Firewhisky that he so adored. 

  


He'd been a bit surprised when he'd learned that his drink was actually brewed in homemade contraptions in backyards and out in the woods deep in the property of slow talking (if Jack's infuriating accent was anything to judge by)_ Muggles _in the south. 

  


Still, there was something _false _about Jack. Argus wasn't quite sure what, but he knew that he didn't trust the man any farther than he could throw him. 

  


Argus looked at his hand, and was pleased to notice that he had a pair of queens already. He pulled the other three useless cards from his hand, and picked up the deck. He distributed the right number of cards to everyone, and then peered back at his own hand. He'd gotten a pair of sevens. Two pair wasn't great by any means, but in five-card draw it could possibly be enough to win. 

  


He tossed fifty cents into the pot. Everyone else followed suit, except Jack, who raised it another quarter. Argus glanced at the man, but couldn't tell whether or not he was bluffing. He tossed in another quarter obediently, evening up the pot. Everyone else, with the exception of Giulio, did also. 

  


"I fold," announced Giulio, laying his cards face down.

  


"Chicken," said Icepick good-naturedly before laying his cards down face up. A pair of deuces and a pair of eights peered around a lone jack.

  


Aldo had one pair of kings, and Argus laid down his own two pairs. It was down to Jack. He laid down his hand. A pair of threes and three sixes. A full house.

  


"You got a full house?" questioned Icepick somewhat dubiously. While they weren't unheard of in five-card draw, they definitely weren't common. 

  


"That's what it looks like," replied Jack, scooping up the pot and stacking the coins next to his hand. He seemed unaffected by the suspicious looks he was getting from three of the other occupants of the table. 

  


Aldo picked up the deck of cards and began to shuffle. "Did you all hear about Ronnie's sister?"

  


Ronnie was the proprietor of a small pawnshop. He was also a pimp and did some heavy dabbling in the liqueur trades. None of the people that Argus regularly associated with were really into the bootlegging business, because it was so new that it wasn't really all that profitable to start out without any trade routes or buyers established. Argus had only met him because Aldo had been systematically introducing Argus to all the important people around town. He said it was important to know the people you might be doing business with.

  


"No- What about Rose? She's a sweet girl," said Giulio.

  


"Rose? The blond? She's more than a girl, I'd say," said Jack lecherously. 

  


"She's only sixteen," admonished Icepick, apparently mentally glossing over the fact that his own fiancé was barely eighteen.

  


"She's dead," said Aldo bluntly.

  


"How?" said Giulio.

"Ronnie's been saying it was a car accident," said Aldo. "But that's not true- I haven't heard about any accidents for the past week, and she died Thursday."

  


"Why would he try to cover up _her_ death? She wasn't involved in anything," Icepick said, confused. Everyone else just nodded.

  


"I don't know," shrugged Aldo as he passed out the cards.

  


"Give me two," said Giulio. "We could ask Gisella if she heard anything about Rose."

  


"One," said Icepick. "That sounds like a good idea. Want to call her in here?"

  


"I'll take two cards," said Jack, watching the other men carefully.

  


"Three for me," said Argus. He had never met Rose, though he had heard that she was a beauty to be reckoned with. 

  


Aldo handed out the requested number of cards to everyone, and yelled, "GISELLA!"

  


A few minutes later, Gisella appeared at the doorway. "What?"

  


"We were wondering," began Giulio. "What all did you hear about Rose?"

  


A guarded look came across Gisella's face. "Why?"

  


That was completely the wrong answer, even Argus knew that. Everyone in the room now knew that she knew exactly what had happened to Rose. There was no way she was getting out of here without telling. 

  


"Start talking," Aldo commanded. Gisella looked like she wanted to argue, but one glance around the room seemed to put the thought out of her head. Her brother, cousin, fiancé, as well as two other gangsters were all waiting on her to talk. She had no choice but to do as they wanted. Sister, cousin, lover she may be, but information was priceless in this world. They might not kill her over it, but they would certainly force it out of her. And she knew it.

  


"Rose didn't die in a car accident. That was a ridiculous story that Ronnie made up, God only knows what he was thinking," Gisella said. She paused. "How well do you all like Ronnie?"

  


Shrugs all around. Aldo just said, "Gisella, just tell us what happened to the girl."

  


"Rose was pregnant," Gisella said. A pin drop could be heard in the silence that followed this announcement. 

  


"But- but Rose was a good Catholic girl. She had good morals. She wouldn't get into that position," said Giulio. "She was a marriage kind of girl."

  


Gisella looked as though she would rather eat glass than continue with the tale of Rose's demise. "She didn't want in that position. She didn't really have a choice in the matter."

  


"Somebody dared to rape her?" Icepick's rumbling voice cut through the room. "Ronnie would have killed them!"

  


"Ronnie's not the suicidal type," replied Gisella quietly. Argus stared. Surely she hadn't meant what he thought that she had meant! Ronnie had been Rose's brother. There was no way that he would- that he would...

  


The other men were silent, the same look of denial on their faces. Ronnie was a good guy; they all seemed to be thinking. He wouldn't do _that._

  


"Are you sure?" Giulio finally asked.

  


"Of course I'm sure! Rose came sobbing to me and Loretta as soon as she knew!" Gisella was indignant. 

  


"As soon as she knew?" Icepick questioned.

  


"Like I said at the beginning, Rose was pregnant," replied Gisella. Looks of horror and disgust spread across the room. Ronnie... Rose... baby. It was horrible to think of.

  


"But Ronnie didn't _kill_ her, did he?" asked Jack, who had been mostly silent until that point.

  


"Not directly," said Gisella. "Loretta- she tried to talk Rose into telling someone, to going to this doctor Loretta knows about. To- you know. Stop a scandal from happening. Rose didn't want that, though. She was terrified of it getting out. She was convinced that the whole thing was her doing. Me and Loretta tried talking to her, into getting her to understand that there were things that could be done, that Rose didn't have to deal with all that alone. She didn't listen to us."

  


"She killed herself?" asked Giulio.

  


"No," replied Gisella. "She tried to eliminate the problem by herself. There are ways, you know. She picked a rough way; she would have been better off with pennyroyal, or any of the herbal- you know. But Rose didn't listen to what we had to say. She thought that she could take care of things. So she tried to give herself a fucking coat hanger abortion." Her voice was shaking with emotion, though Argus was hard pressed to tell if it was anger or grief.

  


"Did it work?" Jack was an ignorant fellow, Argus thought. The girl was dead, it obviously hadn't.

  


"No. Well, I guess it did, because there wasn't a baby anymore. But she- she cut things up in there. She started bleeding." Gisella's eyes sparkled with tears. "She called me up, and I got Loretta and we went over to her. By then, it was too late. Even if she would have gotten a doctor, it would have been too late. She died, all because of that bastard Ronnie."

  


No one was really sure what to say next. Argus wanted nothing more than to go over and hug Gisella, and tell her that everything would be alright, but he figured that wasn't really the most intelligent thing to do when her fiancé was sitting across from him. Her very large fiancé, at that. He probably should be feeling more pity for the dead girl, but he hadn't known her. Hard to sympathize for someone who didn't even have a face in his mind. 

  


Giulio spoke up. "I'm gonna kill--"

  


"No, you aren't," interrupted Aldo. 

  


"What?" Incredulous look.

  


"We can use this to our advantage."

  


Icepick carefully laid the hand of cards he had been clutching down. "What, exactly, are you implying?"

  


Aldo gave him a look. "Ronnie has a... profitable business going on right now."

  


Jack snorted. "You wouldn't make a good pimp, Aldo."

  


A glare. "Gisella, I think you need to go on to your room."

  


The dainty girl, who had been watching the exchange with sharp eyes, nodded and left the room. Argus wondered at a moment why she had gone without argument, but then remembered that she avoided getting involved in the business too much. 

  


"What the hell was that about?" Jack had no sense of subtlety.

  


"Icepick. Shut the door, please." Aldo's voice was soft, threatening. Jack didn't look scared, though. Jack seemed to think he was invincible. 

  


Aldo didn't acknowledge Jack, though. "Boys, we just got our big break."

  


Dawning understanding on Giulio's face, and a grin appeared. "There is a lot of money to be made there."

  


"Damn right," agreed Icepick. Argus felt like he had missed some integral part of the conversation. He kept quiet, though. Showing ignorance to these people was like baring your throat to the wolves.

  


What do you know about Ronnie's operation?" Giulio asked.

  


"Canadian. Straight from the breweries. Good stuff," replied Aldo. Argus felt as though he had been fumbling in the dark, and suddenly someone had turned on the light. Of course! Ronnie made most his money off bootlegged liqueur. He ran a speakeasy out of the basement of his whorehouse. If they could take his supply.... 

  


They could make it big.

  


"He uses boats, or what?" Icepick asked.

  


"Boats, and I think he stores it in some of the caves along the riverbed. If we can get all the info out of him, then we'll be able to get revenge." Aldo didn't need to explain further. Icepick knew that Ronnie had broken one of the fundamental rules- never harm family. He deserved exactly what he would get, as soon as his usefulness ran out. 

  


"What the fuck are you going on about?" Jack snapped. He looked madder by the second.

  


No one paid him any mind.

  


"We could get out of information, and use what we know to make sure that no one tries to hone in on our endeavour," Aldo said. "This could be it."

  


Argus was watching Aldo, thinking that this was the happiest he had ever seen the man when a movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. Jack was standing up, saying something. "Goddamn Italian bastards...last straw... I'm not taking it anymore... eat this, shit faced uppity motherfucker..."

  


Before Argus had even fully realized what was happening, a series of loud bangs sounded.

  


Aldo shuddered, grappled at the burgeoning red stains on the front of his white shirt, and weakly said, "Fuck."

  


Argus was aware of people standing, shouting, moving around the room. He was aware of leaping out of his own chair, gaping at the scene, hearing the door swing open and Gisella screaming. He was aware of Aldo slumping over, Gisella's blood covered hands, Giulio's steady stream of curses, the fleeting movement of Jack shoving something small and dark into his jacket, and running from the room, chased by Treetop as Icepick tried to pull Gisella away from Aldo's body. 

  


He just stared, backing away from the overturned card table- how had that happened?- and watching as Icepick held Gisella tightly, either restraining or embracing her. He saw tears streaking down her cheeks, leaving trails of makeup. Giulio was kneeling beside the body now, speaking to it softly. 

  


Argus just couldn't quite comprehend the fact that it was Aldo's blood on the floor with a few erratic dollar bills and playing cards from the overturned table lying in it, that it was Aldo's body lying limply there, that the man he had trusted most was dead.

  


Death was much less surreal when he hadn't known the victims personally. When he hadn't eaten at their table, fallen in love with their sister, had joked with them and laughed with them and had been threatened by them. When he hadn't known the person personally, cared for them in a way, then their demise had not rifted his thoughts in the least. But he was feeling this more minutely than he would have imagined.

  


Argus stepped over the body, avoiding Giulio, who didn't even look up, went around Icepick and Gisella, and went outside. He needed some air.


	9. Requiem

Rumrunner

AN: Apologies for the delay for this chapter. Antony Moltisanti is an homage to my favorite Sopranos characters. Huge thanks Ozma for reviewing!

Chapter Eight: Requiem

After standing outside for what felt like an eternity, Argus walked slowly back into the house. The first person he saw was Giulio, leaning against the staircase banister having a smoke.

"What's there to be done?" Argus asked. He remembered a flurry of activity after his father's death, though he wasn't really sure if Muggles dealt with things the same way.

"Nothing for now," Giulio replied dully. "I can't believe- I'm going to kill that man when I see him, I don't care who's watching. He's fucking dead."

Argus looked around Giulio, searching for Gisella. He didn't see her in the hall anywhere, or in the parlor. Giulio watched him with an unreadable expression. "Looking for Gisella?"

Argus nodded and then felt like he was supposed to say something. "Is she okay?"

"She's upstairs," Giulio said. "She's torn up."

"She should be," Argus replied.

"I don't know what the hell to say to her," Giulio said. "I don't know what I feel yet. I can't deal with her."

"He was your cousin," Argus replied vaguely. He didn't know what the hell he ought to say either.

"God," Giulio said.

A sharp knocking echoed through the hall, and Argus nearly jumped. "Who's that?" he asked. He didn't know the Muggle rites of death. Perhaps someone was supposed to show up, maybe take Aldo- no, the body- away.

Giulio shrugged, and strode to the door, opening it to reveal a man with perfectly kempt brown hair.

"Hello," he said cordially.

"Now isn't the time, Ronnie," Giulio growled in response.

Argus was vaguely surprised that this man was the notorious Ronnie. He had imagined someone quite a bit more villainous, and certainly less polite than the man before him. Unlike the Torrios, and most of their associates, this man didn't look like a murderer or a rapist. He didn't even look like the normal sort of sleaze than owned pawnshops and pimped out girls. He supposed that was why he hadn't been put of business yet, or why his bootlegging had gone unnoticed by the authorities.

"What's wrong?" Ronnie continued, glancing around the hall. "Something's happened, hasn't it?"

"Maybe you should leave," Argus suggested. He wanted to see this man writhing in torment, and the feeling disconcerted him. Sure, everything he knew about this man made him scum, but when had it become his place to dole out punishment? When had he become judge, jury and executioner?

Ronnie continued to stand on the doorstep, prattling on despite his obvious unwelcome.

"There's been a death in the family," Giulio snapped. "And you are grating on my last fucking nerve."

"A death? It wasn't Gisella, was it?" asked Ronnie, worried.

"It was Aldo," snapped Giulio. He slammed the door. "Bastard."

Argus entered the speakeasy, nervous. This was much more public than he was used to.

"Don't worry," Gisella said, resting a pale hand glittering with rings on his arm. "No one knows us here."

"We don't know that," Argus replied briskly, privately relishing in the small pleasure of referring to himself and his angel in one breath.

"Don't be so paranoid," Gisella said. She looked around, bright-eyed. Argus really wasn't sure that being out tonight, the night before the viewing of Aldo's bullet-ridden body, was entirely appropriate, but he hadn't been able to refuse her. She had taken her brother's death hard, but had not complained when her wedding date had been moved up. Giulio had suggested it, and Gisella had agreed that marriage and getting her out of her brother's house would help her overcome her grief. Argus thought that Giulio just hadn't wanted to play the guardian of his spirited young cousin any longer than he had to.

But earlier that evening, a mere month before Gisella was set to wed Icepick, she had shown up at Argus's door. He had been shocked, to say the least. He had not even been aware that Gisella knew where he lived. Hell, he hadn't even been aware that Gisella would even think that he really existed in any capacity outside her brother's business. But she had pushed her way into his cramped living quarters, and had informed him that he was taking her to see a film.

He had stared at her, painfully conscious of the fact that he was only wearing his undershirt and trousers, and had told her it was too late to see a film.

"Well, we're going out. Get dressed," she had said, cuddling deep into her fur coat. It was large enough to conceal whatever undoubtedly sparkling dress she was wearing beneath, revealing only stocking-clad legs sticking out from its fuzzy depths.

"Okay," Argus agreed hastily as she turned her best pitiful expression on him.

She laughed. "You slay me, Argus, you really do."

He obediently dressed, and less than an hour later found himself in a bar with the girl of his dreams.

"Here," she said, offering him a bottle wrapped in a brown paper bag. He accepted it gratefully.

After imbibing in the surprisingly potent drink for the fourth-no, fifth- time, Argus's nervousness faded, and he allowed Gisella to drag him on the dance floor. He copied the other men's moves clumsily, and then allowed himself to sinfully slide his hands along Gisella's moving body until he felt indecently wicked.

"I'm tired of this place," Gisella said. "Let's go."

Two speakeasies later, Gisella had finally worn herself out.

"I'll drive you home," she said as they headed out the door, giggling.

"No, let me drive you home," Argus said, and then found himself driving the familiar streets to her home. He insisted on escorting her to the door, holding her hand in his so she couldn't flit off into the night again. He wanted to kiss her night-flushed cheeks and her lips, where the rouge had worn off during the long night of drinking and dancing. He wanted to take her to his home, pull her inside and never let her leave.

His hand clenched hers, and he mustered his courage. Argus tasted Gisella, and to his surprise she tasted him back. The door was open, suddenly, and he pulled the willing girl inside. It felt odd to be kissing Gisella- it was as though his midnight fantasies had suddenly come to life. He was not worried about Gisella's soon-to-be married state. He pretended not to feel the dainty golden engagement band around her finger, as he supposed she was also doing. He bravely allowed himself to explore her, hands first traveling across the planes that he had acquanted himself with while dancing, then slowly finding uncharted territory.

A knock sounded at the door. Gisella jerked away, cursing softly. She ran her hands through her hair, attempting to straighten it but only making it look messier.

Argus glared at the door fruitlessly as Gisella strode over and swung it open.

"Good morning," said the man on the other side. Argus did not recognize his black hair or hooked nose, though Gisella's look of aggravated dismay told him she knew exactly who this was.

"Get the hell away from here," Gisella snapped.

"And who is this?" said the man, looking at Argus. "Not your fiancé, I notice."

"Go away!" snapped Gisella.

"I'm Antony Moltisanti," offered the man. "And you are?"

"About to leave," Argus said. He did not trust this man.

"Yes, thank you for escorting me this evening," Gisella said demurely, resting a hand on his arm. "Without Oscar with me I feel so vulnerable."

"This evening?" asked Moltisanti. "It's daybreak. Hardly in mourning, are you?"

Gisella gasped, affronted. Argus took a step forward, and said in a low voice, "I think it's time for you to leave."

Moltisanti smiled grimly. "Just remember, we're keeping a close eye on you."

Argus slammed the door in his face. He turned, afraid that Gisella would be crying, but instead she looked as though she wanted to hit something.

"It's all balled up," Gisella exclaimed angrily. "I haven't done anything wrong! But still he sniffs around here all the fucking time!"

"Who was he?" Argus asked.

"The law," said Gisella miserably. "He wanted to put Aldo in the slammer, but now he's pissed because he can't."

Argus wasn't sure what to say. He looked at the miserable girl, and said, "I should go."

"Probably," Gisella replied. "Thanks for tonight."

He left.

The next evening he came back.

It was for Aldo's viewing, which like his father's was held in the man's house. Argus noticed that the coffin was set up in the same room that Aldo had met his maker in, with a new rug covering the bloodstained floor. He greeted Giulio, Treetop and Icepick, but remained on the fringes of the crowd. He didn't know many of the men who were offering condolences to one another, but he knew enough to know they were dangerous.

The coffin was on the far side of the room, set against the wall with flowers on either end. It was open, and Aldo lay on the white satin, looking as though he were asleep and mostly peaceful. The suit he was dressed in hid the fatal bullet wounds, and he looked infinitely too young to rot.

As soon as he noticed her, it was obvious that Gisella was a mess. Probably her situation had hit her hard because it was the first time she had been sober since the terrible night of Aldo's demise. She knelt beside the closed casket for the longest time, forcing the other mourners to just kneel beside her and move along. She finally moved, after staring at the flower arrangement and the unmoving face of her brother for nearly an hour, and walked straight past Argus, not even acknowledging his presence.

Icepick shook his head, watching as his fiancé stopped near the door. "Poor girl needed her brother to look after her. She's lost right now."

Argus stayed silent, nodding his agreement. He was afraid he would let slip what had nearly happened the night before.

"Thanks for looking after her yesterday," Icepick continued. "I know she was looking to get into trouble, and you kept her out of it."

"You're welcome," Argus replied, amazed that he didn't stutter.

"You're invited to the wedding, of course," Icepick continued. "I have a cousin who needs a date, if you want."

"That would be nice," Argus said. He didn't dare refuse the offer, knowing what family meant to Icepick. It was an honor, and he'd be damned if he raised the large man's suspicions by refusing it.

Icepick clasped his hand, then, and pulled him into a brief bear hug. "Aldo was a good man."

"He was," Argus said as he stepped back. He hesitated, then asked what had been on his mind. "What about Jack?"

"Don't concern yourself with the dead, Manacle," Icepick replied. He turned, and walked back to Gisella, who was staring at the floor near the door. Argus watched, jealousy building as Icepick hugged and kissed Gisella gently, and then after a few moments worth of conversation motioned for Giulio. Icepick said something to Guilio that made him smile sadly, then left. Giulio escorted Gisella up the stairs, and after a few minutes Argus left as well. He hated looking at that goddamn shiny wooden box.

It reminded him much too clearly that he too would end up in one.

Wizards had a longer lifespan than the Muggles, and even as a Squib he would have the benefit of that long lifespan. He didn't understand why, exactly, but some trick of inheritance passed along the longer years even when the spark of magic was absent. Still, that didn't affect violent death. And with the way things were going, he was definitely going to die in some bloody manner, probably in the cold darkness with impassive eyes of uncaring killers watching.

Mortality was the boogeyman in even the most heartened killer's closet. Mortality was unavoidable, and Argus didn't really want to embrace it quite yet. He knew that he was on the slippery slopes of an undesirable fate, but he didn't have to like it. He simply ignored it, but the thoughts were unavoidable while standing in next to an open casket or a graveyard watching while someone you had respected went through the final rites of death.

The next morning, he stood in the bright sunshine, wishing for rain. The world just looked to damn cheery and bright, making his eyes burn as he stared at the horizon and his new, dark suit that felt claustrophobic and stifling. He was ignoring the words being spoken by the priest, though he found the man's formal garb to be comforting. It was almost wizard wear, and he felt a mite superior at the fact that the most respected men in this world, the priests and the judges and the scholars during official ceremonies dressed like his people did daily.

A few black crows pecked around a nearby tombstone. One looked up, and cawed pitifully. It's feathers were ruffled and the bird looked half starved. No wonder, since the damn thing lived in a boneyard. Did eating the life growing above corpses, nourished from the dead, make the crows people eaters?

A loud sob from in front of him drew his attention away from the salvaging birds. Gisella was wearing a high-necked black dress that fell well below her knees, and was shaking. She wasn't wearing a coat, though the wind was biting, in sharp contrast to the sunshine. She was holding onto a small beaded bag like her life depended on it, and Icepick had a big, beefy arm wrapped around her. Gisella did not lean into Icepick's shoulder to cry, to hide her tears from the mourning crowd. Instead, she stood as far from him as possible without dislodging his arm, and was looking directly at the gleaming wooden box that was waiting to be lowered into the gaping hole, stretching six feet down.

The funeral was coming to a close, and Gisella tossed a flower into the grave. It was something white and fragile looking, one of the kinds of flowers that only appeared once a death had occurred. Argus stepped away from the crowd of mourners, almost all of whom were crooks and criminals and killers, and hurried towards the gate. He couldn't stay here, and he didn't want to comfort Gisella, and he didn't want to speak to Giulio and try to say something appropriate for the situation.

As he fled, a single phrase from the sermon echoed in his skull, crashing through his thoughts and infecting his mind with their simplicity and truth.

"Dearly departed."


	10. Reality

1Rumrunner

AN: Thanks to Rainpuddle13 for the beta. Also thanks to the lovely Ozma, raven, Silencili, dana-maru1 and Cianna Greenwood for reviewing!

Chapter Nine: Reality

"We are gathered on this day to celebrate the union between this man and this woman," a somberly dressed clergyman droned. Gisella was smiling and dressed in a frothy sea of white lace, and Icepick looked the most relaxed Argus had ever seen him, despite being dressed to the nines for the first time in Argus's memory.

Argus's hands were shaking slightly in his lap, and his date Mabel, a pretty dark-haired girl dressed in green, kept glancing at him. He had known this was coming for as long as he had known Gisella, but the knowledge did not make it any easier to handle. Gisella was getting married, and there was nothing he could do about it.

He distracted himself by concentrating on the stained glass depiction of a crucifixion that dominated the front of the church, and reminded himself that Gisella was a Muggle and therefore beneath his notice. His mother wouldn't allow filth like that to enter her house. He was horrified, then, to realize that he'd felt the sting of guilt at thinking such things.

"Do you, Gisella Francesca Torrio take this man, to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, 'til death do you part?" asked the priest.

Argus imagined that Gisella's eyes slid to him before she murmured, "I do."

"And do you, Oscar J. Norris, take this woman, to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, 'til death do you part?" asked the priest.

"I do," said Icepick gruffly.

When the priest asked for objections, Argus chose to forever hold his peace, along with everyone else that filled the pews. As the priest pronounced them man and wife, Icepick lifted Gisella's veil with more gentleness than a man that big should be able to muster and kissed her.

"Weddings are so beautiful," whispered Mabel as Icepick and Gisella together walked up the aisle.

Argus gave a noncommittal grunt. Gisella was glowing, and she hadn't so much as glanced his way. He hadn't expected her to pay him any mind today of all days, but he had still wanted to be pleasantly surprised if she did. Which she hadn't. He was never going to get to touch her again, and she didn't even bother to give him one last moment of her attention to tide him over, or to tell him good-bye.

Mabel was warm at his side, and he allowed her to wrap her arm around his. Her hair was more coarse and thicker than Gisella's, her eyes duller and her soft, demure voice grated at his nerves, but he did not push her away.

At the gathering following the wedding, there was music and dancing. Drinks were flowing with no one acknowledging the legality issues, and Gisella was fawned over by everyone. Argus stayed in the back of the room with Guilio's other associates.

He was somewhat surprised to see Moltisanti mingling with the other partygoers, drink in hand. As though noticing Argus's attention, he turned and headed in his direction.

"Interesting to see a foreigner like you here," Moltisanti commented idly to Argus, looking at him suspiciously. "Just how close are you to the Torrios?"

"Antony!"

Moltisanti turned as a buxom bleach blonde stalked towards them. She was scowling, and said, "Antony, what the hell do you think you're doing here?"

"I'm–"

She interrupted him. "After the way you treated my sister, you have the audacity to show up here?"

Argus decided that this was a good time to step to the other side of room to see if anything of interest was happening there. He slipped away without attracting undue attention. There was dancing and laughter filling the room, and he found himself standing at the edge of a group of unfamiliar Muggles, mostly ignoring their conversation as he watched Gisella laugh and be beautiful with her friends and new husband, when their conversation captured his attention.

"He disowned his son last year."

Argus didn't know that Muggles would have cause to disown their offspring. Being Muggle should put them all on the same level, after all. Money was the only thing that really separated them, because they were the bottom of the barrel. There were no concepts like Mudbloods and half-bloods to divide them. "Why?" he asked.

"He... preferred the company of men," said Giulio tactfully.

"If you can call them _men_," interjected a large, curly-haired man.

"Disgrace to their family," offered another man, sloshing his drink around. There were nods of agreement throughout the group.

Argus felt vaguely uncomfortable. He had heard variations of the last two statements before, in his mother's home. Never directly to his face, but behind closed doors the words had been uttered. In a strange way, he realized the unknown son's pains even though his mother hadn't disowned him, exactly.

Though, he now realized that he hadn't heard from her since her goodbye as he left for America on the wild goose chase that had lead him to his current lifestyle. No owls, nothing. Not even a note for his twentieth birthday. His mother had been the one to insist on him trying to find that damned, imaginary specialist.

The bitch had just sent him away so that he would no longer be an embarrassment, he realized, but it was accompanied by no sorrow. His home was here now, amongst the magic-less and the mundane. He knew that better things existed in the world that this bleak existence, but this was all that he had. The Muggle life was the only thing that was open to him anymore.

He was considered grabbing another drink when a slightly familiar shrill giggle and apology made him look up. Mabel was pushing her way through the crowds of people towards him.

"Come on, I'm sp-sp-splifficated," giggled Mabel, breaking through the crowd of men blithely. "Take me home."

Argus bid his friends a farewell and walked Mabel outside. She clung to his arm, tripping occasionally in her heeled shoes. He helped her climb into the car, watching as her fringed skirt rode up indecently high on her thighs. Muggle women had no shame. No respectable witch would make a spectacle of herself like Mabel was. He prepared himself for a tiresome drive home. His heart was heavy with the thought that Gisella was no longer available for him to somehow take away from Icepick. The man was no longer just a fiancé, but a husband. He didn't have a chance in the world. All he wanted to do was return home, to his real home in the real world, not to his colorless apartment in the empty Muggle world.

"Turn left," Mabel said, smiling up at him prettily. Her hand had found its way onto his thigh only minutes after leaving the reception.

"You live out here?" he said doubtfully. They had, at Mabel's direction, been driving further away from the city proper. Wilderness pressed closer to them now, trees outlined in black filling the sky where buildings and lampposts had been.

"What do you think?" Mabel's voice was low and playful, and he glanced at her to see a catlike smile creep across her features.

"That I don't really care," he said honestly, smiling as her hand crept higher.

"Turn here," she said, and Argus obediently turned onto a narrow, overgrown dirt road. Bushes and saplings whipped against the sides of his car, occasionally scratching the paint with a grating sound. Finally, the road opened into a small meadow. Argus eased the car to one side and cut the engine and lights.

The car was immediately submerged in darkness. The woodlands made the night more oppressive than it ever managed in town, and Argus found the darkness a comfort. The silence that settled in the car, however, was stifling. He glanced back over at Mabel. It was the broad's bloody idea to come out here, why wasn't she doing anything?

Mabel's silhouette moved closer, and Argus found a pair of soft lips on his own. The kissing, which he found to be quite an enjoyable pastime, continued for a while until Mabel broke away. She peered over her seat into the back one and said, "There's a lot more room back there."

Argus couldn't get into the backseat fast enough.

The Muggle in the backseat was spread out wantonly and giggling slightly as her buckled shoes slid across the leather, unable to grip as she tugged him closer. Small hands tugged at the buttons on his trousers, and he suddenly felt unrestricted and free. Emboldened, he slid his hands up silk stockings to pale plump flesh, and slid her short dress up as she raised her hips.

From that point things went quickly, and as her heat scorched around him he imagined that the closed eyes below him were startling blue under their lids, and that the flyaway hair was darker than the night had already made it. He wasn't sure if the name on the tip of his tongue actually slipped out - the girl gave no indication of him having said anything- but it struggled to be free in the night air.

He slumped against warm pliant flesh, breathing heavily. After a few minutes, Mabel pushed at him, and he drew away from her, leaving her warmth only to be embraced by the cold night air wafting in through the car's open windows.

"Where do you really live?" Argus asked shortly after arranging himself and the girl into a vestige of propriety.

She told him, and he dropped her off without another word.

Ronnie held the key to the whole operation.

Argus thought that everything would be so much simpler if what they needed was a real key, but he knew now that things were never so simple. Ronnie knew the ins and outs of his most lucrative business, and Guilio wanted them to find out everything they could about it. Aldo's vision would be fulfilled.

Ronnie himself was chained to the wall, slumped slightly down. His feet rested on the dirty tile floor, and he no longer resembled the well-coiffed man Argus had briefly met a few months before. His brown hair was plastered to his forehead with a mixture of sweat and a thin sheen of blood.

"Just let me go!" Ronnie hissed, peering up while keeping his chin down. "I'm a businessman. I need to be running my shop."

Treetop was standing in the corner as far away from Ronnie as possible. "We want to know some things."

Ronnie struggled against his chains a bit, and said, "I don't know anything. I stay away from that shit."

"We're interested in the kind of shit you _do_ know," said Treetop. "Because we know some shit about you."

"There's nothing t-to know about me," Ronnie said weakly. "If you let me go I won't say anything about this. It will be forgotten."

"Do you think we fucking care if you talk?" Argus said. His favorite hammer was sitting on the table.

"We know about Rose."

"What about her?" Ronnie was guarded.

"We know how she died, cocksucker, and we know what you did to her. You're a sick fuck, you know that?"

Ronnie looked warily at them, as if trying to gauge the severity of their reactions. It was obvious that Treetop had taken special offense to the rape. Argus knew Treetop had a sister of his own that he treated like a china doll, so it was unsurprising that he would react so violently towards the thought that someone else would betray their sister's trust and do something completely horrible.

Argus, on the other hand, wasn't as obvious with his disgust. Ronnie chose to try to appeal to Argus. "What I did wasn't all that bad."

Argus raised his eyebrow. Treetop was cracking his knuckles. Ronnie was wild-eyed as he continued. "It's been done throughout history. Pharaohs and Caesars didn't think that it was evil to lay with their sisters, so why should I?"

Argus said nothing.

"It was all her fault. She would walk around the hall wearing thin little nightgowns that hid _nothing_. With a sweet little twat like that how can a man resist?"

Treetop growled. Argus had always been aware of Treetop's massive size, but for the most part the man was rather docile. His size afforded him a confidence that made him one of the kindest of the gangsters Argus knew, but he was still undeniably intimidating without trying. Now that Treetop was angry, he was utterly menacing and definitely not someone to be fucked with.

Treetop picked up Argus's hammer, the one with the smooth wandlike handle and blood dried into the crease between the head and handle. Argus watched as Treetop swung the hammer in a graceful arc and slammed it into Ronnie's groin.

Ronnie screamed, puked and strained against his restraint. A string of vomit was smeared down his chin and inarticulate moans emitted from his throat.

Treetop calmly laid the hammer back on the table. "Women are to be respected, asshole," he said.

When Ronnie seemed lucid again, Argus said to him, "We're interested in your bootlegging operation."

"What does that have to do with Rosey? She's dead you know. You're getting fucking crazy over a dead girl."

"A dead girl _you_ put in the ground," Treetop said.

"I wasn't responsible for her death. I didn't put a bullet in her brain," Ronnie argued.

"Doesn't matter. She died because of what you did to her," Argus said. The smell of vomit was cloying, and Argus did not look forward to having to step closer to it. Hell, he'd probably be stepping in it before this was over. "And the girl really doesn't matter. We want to know about the bootlegging."

"What bootlegging? I don't know anything about any fucking bootlegging," Ronnie choked out.

Argus took the hammer from Treetop. He shifted it in his hand, adjusting his grip with practiced slowness. Ronnie's fearful eyes never left the hammer, and Argus leaned forward deliberately.

"Tell us about the bootlegging."

Ronnie shook his head.

"Tell us," he said again, raising the hammer, handle smooth in his hand.

"Fine, fine," said Ronnie quickly, with a shudder. "It's based out of Canada... I deal with a man named Beauchamp. I send men to make pick-ups every two weeks, from my rumrunners that cross the lake."

Treetop was thoughtful. "You have any special codes you use with Beauchamp?"

Ronnie nodded, and began to describe how he dealt with his connection. After the initial break of his silence, Ronnie began to answer questions more and more easily, especially after Argus placed the hammer out of sight and no more violence was shown to the chained man.

Finally, the information petered out, and Argus exchanged quick glances with Treetop. There was nothing more that Ronnie could do other than the final bit of paperwork necessary to make his business belong to Giulio.

Argus unshackled the man, watching hope blossom in the condemned man's countenance. They lead him out of the abattoir discretely at gunpoint, putting him in the passenger seat of Treetop's car and driving the darkened streets of the city to Giulio's home. An unfamiliar car sat at the curb outside, and Treetop motioned to hide the weapons as they entered the house.

Giulio greeted them, and introduced them briefly to a dour, old lawyer that held a meticulously worded deed to Ronnie's establishment out for inspection.

The hope had disappeared from Ronnie. He signed away his livelihood with no fuss, as what little fight he still had was quelled by the presence of arms.

Argus remained at Giulio's house as Treetop lead Ronnie away to a death sentence imposed by a self-appointed judge and jury.

He had to help plan the new break from their old methods and into the opening of their own business in illegal booze. Ronnie's business had been adequate, but Giulio had bigger plans.


End file.
